


To Bear the Weight

by everylemon



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Chronic Pain, Disability, Gen, Permanent Injury, mild lunoct crushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 73,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everylemon/pseuds/everylemon
Summary: The driver shouted and spun off the road; the guard in the front seat turned back to look at Ignis and Noctis. And then she was crushed, along with the entire front of the car in a smash of glass and snake scales, and the car went spinning and screaming.Then, terrible silence.For a single heartbeat, Ignis sat dazed in the smashed car with his ears ringing oddly and his head wet (why was it wet?), breathing in air that tasted like metal. He turned his head (why was that hard?) towards Noctis.Noct was impossibly angled towards the middle of the car, which had crumpled on top of him from the side. They locked eyes for a single, horrified moment, so that Noct’s white face and wide eyes were the last thing Ignis saw before steel blades stabbed through the car with a rust-throated scream.--AU where Noctis is attacked by the Marilith at 14, rather than 8, and with different repercussions.
Comments: 140
Kudos: 232





	1. Broken Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Content note: This fic deals with injury, chronic pain, and disability; ableism appears throughout. I've done my best to write thoughtfully around these topics and am always here for feedback._

“Stand up straight, Noctis,” Regis said, smoothing down the rumpled lapel of his son’s suit coat.

“I am,” Noctis said automatically, but shifted his shoulders back and lost a bit of the hunched-over, string-bean teen boy look he’d grown into over the past couple years. At 14, it already seemed Noctis wasn’t destined to be tall, but he’d certainly kept the tailors busy with his recent growth spurt.

“Reggie!” Cid called as he emerged from the Hammerhead Service Station, wiping his palms on already-greasy jeans. It sounded like that old smoking habit had truly caught up to his voice. “You finally brought her to see me, eh?”

Regis saw Noctis stiffen at his side, but Cid strode straight past them both to the Regalia.

“Ah, there she is, purty as ever,” Cid cooed to the car. “Those fancy-ass city mechanics treatin’ you right, old girl?” He rested a fond hand on the hood.

Regis couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “It’s good to see you too, Cid.”

“Cindy!” Cid called over his shoulder, ignoring him. “Come meet the King of Lucis!”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Regis was tucked in a booth at Hammerhead’s tiny diner, which had been overwhelmed by the royal retinue required for a simple day-trip to Leide.

Of course, it was rare in recent memory for the king to go further than the Wall, but the conflict with the Empire had been cool for long enough that the benefits outweighed the risks.

“Don’t mind the Kingsglaive hiding in the bushes,” Regis overheard Noctis telling the proprietor, a jumpy-looking man named Takka, with a sly grin as they’d entered. “They really hate this sort of thing.”

“Oh! Uh, seems a shame they can’t eat,” Takka had said.

Noctis had nodded thoughtfully. “Got anything to go?”

Which is how Noctis ended up handing out hot sandwiches to as many Glaives as he could spot. Out the diner window, as everyone else dug into bowls of chili, Regis saw him toss one up a tree, hand another behind the caravan, and get on his hands and knees to slide a third beneath one of the cars before he came running back into the diner, laughing and red-cheeked.

“Did you find them all, Noct?” Ignis asked, grinning.

“Nah, but I left a fourth sandwich outside the caravan, and I bet it’ll be gone by the time we get out,” Noct said, and Regis was filled with soft pride at his son’s penchant for a well-timed kindness.

“Ooh, I can see it from here — let’s sit by the window and see if we can catch ‘em,” Cindy said, and the three youngsters piled into a booth.

Regis and Cid were joined by Cor and Clarus and, though they were minus Weskham, being around Cid again for the first time in decades made Regis feel like a different version of himself. A younger, happier one. Cor and Clarus seemed to have caught the mood, too; they all swapped inside jokes and caught up on little things.

It seemed decades of chilly silence could thaw rather quickly, once you were ready to let it.

Regis stole glances at the other table, where Noctis picked at his bowl of chili, occasionally stopping to scoop out a chunk of tomato to abandon on the tray. 

“Well, no wonder you’re so small, little prince,” Regis overheard Cindy teasing. “You’ll never grow big if you don’t eat yer veggies.”

Noctis turned bright red and changed the conversation to cars, which worked admirably to distract Cindy.

Cid’s granddaughter had to be, what, 19 or 20 years old by now? In some ways, with her sandy hair and obvious resemblance to Cid, she bore a stronger resemblance to the man Regis had journeyed with than the white-haired mechanic in front of him.

After too short a time, Clarus stood. “I’m sorry, Cid, but we need to get Regis and Noctis home before it’s too dark.”

“Not a bad idea,” Cid said with a nod that sent a pang of regret through Regis. Cid’s own son had perished, together with his wife, in a daemon attack. Regis had never gotten to meet the boy.

“I’ll see you at home,” Regis said to Noctis as everyone piled back into the caravan. His son was riding with Ignis in the rearmost car. “Please make sure you make it to breakfast on time tomorrow; Ignis has the day off, and I don’t want him worrying about whether or not you rose before noon.”

Noctis sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

Regis gave him a sharp look, and Noctis slumped back into that slouchy teen posture.

“Yes, sir,” his son said, beelining for the car.

* * *

  
The gentle rhythm of the car humming over dusk-lit roads threatened to send Ignis to sleep, but he tried to focus on the math textbook in his lap while he still had a little light to read by.

If he remembered correctly, the bridge that led back into Insomnia proper would be coming up any minute. The trip to Leide had been endlessly fascinating — he was going to have to ransack the library to learn more about the different flora and fauna they’d seen — but he couldn’t help but feel grateful to be going home, either.

“Igs, you gonna study the whole time?” Noct asked, leaning across the middle seat and prodding him with his phone. “I thought we could play Titan Clash.”

Ignis rolled his eyes. “I’ve missed a whole day of school, Noct. As have you.” (Actually, he was four chapters ahead of the class, but Noct didn’t need to know that.)

“It’s called a _day off_. Try it sometime.”

“Well, it’s about to be over, and there are final examinations waiting for me after this little excursion,” he said, feeling every one of his 15 years as he turned back to the book. “Also, I’ve been working the whole time, so it’s hardly—”

He inhaled sharply, having given himself a paper cut flipping the page. He resisted the urge to pop the finger in his mouth and instead retrieved his handkerchief to stop the line of blood from dripping onto the equations below.

Noctis was looking at him with intense interest. “You OK?”

“Yes, I’m . . . _Oh._ That.” He held out his hand towards Noctis, who took it in his own. “Remember, don’t—”

“—overdo it, yeah.” Noctis closed his eyes, screwed up his brows in concentration, and exhaled.

Ignis felt a golden warmth course from his fingertips up his palm as the cut vanished. It really was a most peculiar sensation, accompanied by a brief wash of sleepy contentment; he shook his tingling fingers. “Still a bit much for a paper cut.”

“You’re welcome,” Noct said with an eye-roll and a smirk.

Noctis been practicing free-spell healing magic every chance he could get since his 14th birthday a couple months back, when Regis had deemed him ready to move beyond simple potions. He took to it with a natural talent, but perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm; he was still learning to control the amount of power he used.

The only way to truly master that, of course, was to practice. But they couldn’t just let him loose on the hospital ward. He’d drain himself dry.

As it was, Noctis mostly practiced on the minor bumps and scrapes in the training hall, cheering every time some poor Crownguard trainee bit it in practice. He’d only passed out once recently, when Gladio had broken his wrist and Noct had refused to wait for a medic.

 _One could take him for a vampire with his keen interest in anyone bleeding,_ Ignis thought wryly, and he was about to say as much when an explosion on the road ahead rocked the car and sent a jolt through his body. A burst of orange fire lit the darkening sky and silhouetted something massive coiled across both lanes of the road in front of them.

The driver shouted and spun off the road; the guard in the front seat turned back to look at Ignis and Noctis. And then she was crushed, along with the entire front of the car in a smash of glass and snake scales, and the car went spinning and screaming.

Then, terrible silence.

For a single heartbeat, Ignis sat dazed in the smashed car with his ears ringing oddly and his head wet (why was it wet?), breathing in air that tasted like metal. He turned his head (why was that hard?) towards Noctis.

Noct was impossibly angled towards the middle of the car, which had crumpled on top of him from the side. They locked eyes for a single, horrified moment, so that Noct’s white face and wide eyes were the last thing Ignis saw before steel blades stabbed through the car with a rust-throated scream.

* * *

  
Shouting. Gunfire. Something whipping through grass. An inhuman scream.

Nothing in the car moved.

Noctis reached out a shaking hand and caught Ignis’s lifeless one. He closed his eyes against the blinding pain, reached inside for golden light, and let everything go.

* * *

Maybe once upon a time, as a younger man without years of the Wall weighing on him, Regis could have taken on the Marilith himself.

Today, he thanked the Astrals that Clarus and Cor were charging towards it, too, along with the four Kingsglaive who had accompanied them.

Clarus sprang forward with reckless speed, enraging the daemon with a slash across her eerily human face, then rolled out of the way as Regis lifted his hand and sent a whirl of royal arms slashing towards the creature. He matched the Marilith blade for blade, holding her blows long enough for the Glaives to warp in and out with quick blows.

Enraged, the serpent screamed and circled, whipping bodies away from her as she coiled inwards. Regis gasped and dropped to one knee, but sent the royal arms charging back towards her.

A Glaive lopped off one arm, Cor caught another, and then another Glaive was impaled on one of the daemon’s blades before Clarus rushed in and cleaved the human head from the monstrous body.

Regis didn’t wait for it to hit the ground.

He was charging towards wrecked car; he could tell at a glance that the driver and guard who had been riding in front were dead. He couldn’t see into the back through the splintered glass window. A Crownsguard was pulling frantically on the handles of the crumpled doors, but they wouldn’t budge.

Clarus had caught up now. He angled his sword into the crack between window and roof, then sheared the entire top off the car in one motion, and Regis reached in to pull Noctis out.

* * *

  
The sound of shearing metal pulled Ignis back into consciousness as the car’s roof was wrenched away.

He sat up, dizzy, everything tingling in the strangest way. Someone was yelling his name — Clarus Amicitia, he thought — and then catching him under the arms, hauling him from the twisted wreckage and carrying him across the street towards whirling ambulance lights.

“No, Noct . . . _NOCT!_ ” Ignis wrenched himself around and down out of the arms of his rescuer, who made a noise of surprise but caught him around the waist before he could charge back towards the car. 

“His father is there,” Lord Amicitia said. “There’s nothing you can do. Please, I need to be with the king.” He firmly steered Ignis towards a medic, who reached out to pull Ignis onto a wheeled cot, and then sprinted back towards the wreckage himself. 

“Hey, I need you to lie down,” the medic, a square-jawed older man, said. He gently but firmly eased Ignis back onto the cot, then rolled it into the ambulance. Another medic, a younger woman, climbed in, immediately administered a potion, and began checking him for deeper wounds.

“I — I’m fine, really,” Ignis stuttered. He was fine, he just couldn’t think except for the image of Noct broken in the backseat. “I just need . . .”

“It’s the shock, just relax,” the man said, taking his pulse and wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

Ignis slumped into the cot. He was powerless. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Six as the ambulance door shut and sped away.

* * *

“Try not to move him any more than you have to!” one of the guards, a medic, called, dashing to kneel besides Regis.

Regis was yelling Noctis's name as he reached inside for the golden thread of the Crystal’s connection, poured it out through his palms and into Noctis’s chest. Not enough — never enough power, not with the Wall. He reached into the armiger for an elixir instead and crushed it against Noctis’s chest.

Nothing. It didn’t seem like anything was taking.

He grabbed his son’s hand, and golden warmth flooded his body. He felt the rib he’d cracked when the car swerved off the road heal, the cuts from shattered glass vanish.

No.

_No._

“Noctis,” he pleaded. “You need to stop it. You need to turn it off.” He took both of Noctis’s hands in his and tried to close the loop. To return the healing back to his son’s broken, bleeding body.

Noct’s eyes opened, wide and disoriented. “Gn.” He was choking on blood; it spattered the pavement. “Ig—”

“Ignis is okay,” Clarus said from somewhere behind them.

Regis shook Noctis’s hands with desperation. “Ignis is okay. He’s okay. You can stop, Noctis — you need to stop, or your body won’t heal.”

“Can’t . . .” Noctis choked, back arching, making it hard for Regis to hold on with blood slicked hands.

Clutching Noctis’s hands, Regis frantically fought against that current of golden light, bending it backwards, struggling to shut a door that had been flung wide open — until the power cut abruptly and Noctis fell limp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi! Are you reading this in 2021? Great, glad to see ya, please know it's never too late to leave comments whenever the mood strikes you ;)


	2. Lost in Smoke Like Water

Noctis dreamed.

He was drowning in smoke. He was floating in fog. He was lost in a blizzard that tore winter wind through his heart, then screaming in fire that climbed up his legs and scorched his limbs to ash.

Sometimes, he thought he heard voices, but he was always alone. He couldn’t focus. Everything was blurry and far-away, except for the pain that crept beneath his skin; when he swam closer to the surface, it _burned_. He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be doing. Ignis . . . He thought maybe Ignis was hurt, and he should find him, but he never could.

He couldn’t find his way back.

* * *

The kind-faced doctor who saw Ignis in the Citadel’s hospital wing insisted on probing him for internal bleeding, triple-checking his vitals, and keeping him overnight for monitoring in case of head injury. Intellectually, Ignis understood. The medical professionals were responsible for ensuring the well-being of a 15-year-old boy with royal connections, and no one was going to take a chance sending him home with an undiagnosed concussion or other injury.

But he was going to kill someone.

The nurses wouldn’t give him any information. They didn’t seem to fathom that he could not simply relax in bed with a cup of apple juice when he didn’t _know_ anything, didn’t even know if Noct was — that is, whether or not Noct —

Ignis took a shaky breath, and then another, trying to steady himself. Panicking would not help.

He needed something to focus his mind. A puzzle to work through. After a moment’s reflection, he found a two-part mystery: How was he alive and uninjured?

The first step, of course (and he felt his breath even out within the calming confines of logic) was to challenge the premise.

Was he alive? Yes, unless his senses had wholly failed him — in which case there was little point in this or any other logical exercise.

Next, was he truly uninjured? This was harder to confirm. He was not in pain, but the doctor had alluded to shock, even as she failed to find any sort of treatable wound. Shock could indeed explain a lack of physical sensation, and he was admittedly rather shaken. However, as time passed, he felt much the same.

He was covered in an amount of blood that would seem consistent with grievous injury, though he could not be certain it was all his own. After all, there had been three people in that car, and he had seen Crownsguard White completely smashed in a rain of window glass, and he had locked eyes with a pale-faced Noct whose body was twisted beneath twisted steel and smashed into blood-soaked upholstery as he looked at Ignis with a single moment of brutal clarity before everything had been steel and pain and darkness and gods, oh _gods,_ this could not be happening, he was going to be sick —

He was sick.

Violently.

Repeatedly.

On the bright side, the nurse had left a pink plastic tub for that very purpose. Less fortunately, the round of vomiting brought a nurse back in, kick-started another round of checks for head injury, and killed his hope of getting to shower sooner rather than later.

The nurse had gotten him settled back down when his uncle showed up at a run, perfectly pressed suit and all, and swept Ignis into a hug that was both awkward in his position on the bed, still in bloody clothing, and also such a relief.

Tears pricked at the back of Ignis’s eyes. He was suddenly so, so tired. “Uncle, I’m fine,” he said, voice muffled in the padded shoulder of his uncle’s suit coat, embarrassed to be sniffling.

“Ignis,” his uncle said with fond exasperation.

“I _am_ — but Prince Noctis.” He swallowed hard. “Do you know anything?”

His uncle straightened, as if recalled to his usual pristine posture by the mere mention of royalty. Ignis noticed he’d left streaks of blood on the front of his uncle’s shirt, and he focused on them instead of his face.

“I don’t know, Ignis.” He cut off the frustrated noise Ignis started to make with an upraised hand. “I _know_ you need to know. I _will_ find out. But I need you to rest while I figure this out.” He reached out a hand to cup Ignis’s cheek in a way he hadn’t done since Ignis was much smaller. “Please.”

That was his uncle for you — composure embodied, the true warmth beneath only really expressing itself when Ignis was on the edge of tears anyway.

Ignis nodded.

Then, gods bless him, his uncle left to find _answers_.

* * *

There were certain times when being a king didn’t matter much. It turned out that the terrified wait of sitting in a hospital while doctors tried to save your child’s life was one of them.

Regis sat alone on a thinly cushioned chair, holding a paper cup of cold coffee that someone had pressed into his hands an hour ago, tracing patterns with his stare at the beige linoleum hallway floor. He had sent everyone important to him away after the surgery had begun; it would, they hoped, be hours yet before anything changed. They were also the people he trusted to deal with what needed to be dealt with.

Three people dead: one Glaive, one Crownguard, and a driver on the Citadel staff, each with families and colleagues to inform. Then, a press report of the incident, not be released until all those families had been notified. He hoped this would buy time until they had a better picture of Noctis’s condition, too. Additionally, one of the special units would launch an investigation into how such had such a creature come to be at the border of the wall, at dusk, and whether this was indicative of greater daemonic activity in the outlying regions.

All that, others could handle, at least for this moment.

Noctis was his son. This vigil was his by right.

* * *

Ignis finished the shower he’d finally been cleared for and changed into the sweatpants and t-shirt his uncle had left for him. He decided to peek into the hall to investigate whether he could see evidence of Noctis’s presence somewhere in the hospital, but the door opened before he could reach it, revealing his uncle. The tall, balding man was slightly out of breath.

“Alive,” he said.

Ignis swayed a bit, bracing himself against the wall. “How did you find out?”

“King Regis called me. He was extremely relieved to hear you were well.”

Ignis’s throat tightened.

His uncle took him by the shoulders and firmly steered him back towards the bed. “Ignis, you need to sleep.”

Ignis sat, frowning. “But I need to see him.”

His uncle gave a taut shake of his head. “Prince Noctis isn’t here. He’s at the hospital closer to the wall — University of Insomnia Medical Center. He is in surgery, and will be for some time yet.” His uncle settled next to him. “It is not good, Ignis.”

Ignis’s mouth was dry. He felt fear buzzing, electric, through his body, and leaned back against the pillows. “I see.”

“I promise I will wake you as soon as I hear anything, but for the next few hours, no news is good news.”

“I . . . alright. Thank you, Uncle. For everything.”

His uncle cupped Ignis’s cheek with a warm palm, and then — bless him — took his leave, promising he would remain close by with his phone on in case Ignis needed him.

He was alone.

And now, clean and comfortable, with nothing else he could do, it was time to face the clues he’d been ignoring. The memory he’d been avoiding.

He’d walked away unscathed from a car crushed in a horrific attack.

He’d been wearing clothing that looked as though he’d been run through, but was completely healthy beneath.

And then, the memory of screaming steel, all-consuming pain, sick darkness . . . and then . . . what? 

_Light._

Golden light.

Burning shame rose like bile in his throat as all the clues clicked to reveal the truth he had not wanted to face. Noct had _healed_ him. He had wasted his strength on Ignis, and now . . . Now Ignis was unscathed, and Noct’s life hung in the balance.

And how had Noct — enthusiastic healer of paper cuts and sprained ankles — really healed him from _this_? Fear and wonder chased each other up his spine.

He was glad to be alone. He wished he was not alone. He prayed to every Astral in turn, beseeching them to spare Noct. He made a hundred promises he would give anything to keep. And then, he buried his face into the pillow and sobbed until he slept.

* * *

Every time someone from the operating room came out to update Regis on the progress of the surgery, his heart threatened to beat free of his chest.

They came with updates on oxygen and bleeding, with softly couched warnings that his leg still might need amputation, with small bits of hope wrapped in reminders of all that could go wrong.

The words washed over him without registering much beyond _your son is still alive._

In those moments, it was all he cared to know.

Finally, _finally_ , it was over, and Regis could see him, though more people wanted to talk at him about how the next 48 hours were crucial, and he was not out of the woods, and they weren’t sure if magical exertion or head injury was making it take longer than it should for Noctis to wake . . . but all Regis could focus on was the fretful pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips.

* * *

Ignis jerked upright as a hand landed on his shoulder. “Noct,” he said, before he even remembered where he was.

“He’s made it out of surgery, but he hasn’t woken up yet,” his uncle said in the dark. He pressed a cool glass of water into Ignis’s hand, and Ignis drank gratefully. “The doctor said I could bring you home. Do you want to stay here or go back?”

“I’ll come with you,” Ignis said immediately, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He felt wide awake. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Ah,” his uncle said, checking his wristwatch. “Five hours.”

Ignis’s back stiffened. “And Noct . . . just got out of surgery? When can I see him?”

“It will likely be a couple days,” his uncle said softly. “Right now, they are waiting for him to wake up so they can assess his condition and make a decision about moving him to the Citadel’s hospital. Not until then.”

The Scientia home was mere blocks from the Citadel, in the heart of the city. It was an impressive, stone-faced building with ornate carvings that arched above the windows and doors.

Ignis had lived here ever since his parents had died and he’d come to stay with his uncle — he could only barely remember a time before then. He had a suite in the Citadel, too, which had been entrusted to him at age 13. He’d spent more and more time there in recent memory as he asserted his independence and worked hard to be viewed as mature and self-sufficient.

But as they walked into the marble-tiled entryway together, Ignis was glad to be home and taken care of.

* * *

“I should have been there,” Gladio said, pacing the kitchen with his hands shoved into his pockets. “You should have let me go with them.”

“There was nothing you could have done,” his father said from the kitchen table, with a sharp tone that snapped Gladio’s back straight to attention. “You will begin guarding the Prince in earnest when you join the Crownsguard, and not before. Until then, your duty is to continue your own training and to train the Prince.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied automatically.

Clarus slumped onto his elbows at the kitchen table, his expression growing even grimmer than it had started. “Unless I am very much mistaken, that second duty just became much more challenging.”

Gladio’s mouth went dry. “What are you not telling me?”

* * *

Regis remembered Noctis’s first steps.

That in itself was a minor miracle. He had thrown himself into the work of ruling a kingdom in the wake of Aulea’s death; he had entrusted the care of his son to others as he struggled beneath the weight of his own grief.

It had been Clarus who suggested they go visit Noctis’s caretaker for a report on the young Prince’s progress. It was a thinly veiled way of strong-arming him into paying attention to his young son. Clarus thought children were the balm for whatever ailed you.

And so they’d found themselves standing in the nursery, listening as the young woman who cared for Noctis gushed about her charge — his fat-cheeked little boy with the tufts of raven hair and widest, bluest eyes. Aulea’s eyes. He was clinging to the crib to stand up, watching Regis and Clarus carefully.

“—and he is quite a clever little one for just 11 months, making all kinds of sounds, and he has five words, too. He’s a watchful one, for sure, always wide-eyed with wonder, and if you catch him staring, he gives the brightest little smile—”

 _She’s trying to sell my son to me,_ Regis had realized with a jolt. As if the reason he barely saw the boy was because he wasn’t _good enough_. The thought was sour in his stomach.

“—and he’s been working on standing and inching along while holding onto the furniture, though it seems like he has a ways to go before he starts trying to walk; isn’t that right, little Prince?” she finished, out of breath.

“Ba,” Noctis had said solemnly.

And then he’d let go of the crib and stood, wobbling, to take a step.

A laugh had burst from Regis’s lips. It was as if the little boy had said, _Oh yeah? I’ll show you._ Regis had sunk to his knees, coming face-to-face with his son, who had taken another shaking step, holding out his hands towards Regis, before his chubby legs gave out. Regis had caught him with another laugh.

“That’s my boy!”

The story had become legendary; one of those crowd-pleasing dinner-table tales that perfectly highlighted Noctis’s contrarian nature.

Now, Regis held his son’s hand as the physician checked the dressings on Noctis’s wounds. Deep gashes pieced together with black stitches criss-crossed from his right knee all the way up the swollen thigh, angry red flesh bright against a backdrop of purple and black bruising. The other leg wasn’t pretty, either, but the physicians thought that the healing magic had fixed any damage to bone and tissue there, leaving only scrapes and bruises in its wake.

The doctors were unsure whether or not Noctis had sustained permanent damage to his spine. Only time would tell.

It was possible he would never walk again.

Regis tried not to think of what this all would mean for his son’s future as King. There were already Council members asking pointed questions about the alteration of succession plans, and though he had shut down any such talk within his own hearing, he knew it would only worsen. He tried to take solace in the Crystal’s calling — and _there_ was a rich irony — providing that his son would somehow be able to walk the path the gods had laid at his feet.

“Spare him,” he whispered to any listening deity. “Please. If you require a sacrifice of his life, you must preserve him to that end.”

* * *

In the end, it was three days — three agonizing, mind-numbing days — until Ignis was allowed to visit Noctis. They had wanted to wait until he’d woken from the surgery, but he still hadn’t. He was in a coma, and no one knew how long it would last. They’d finally transferred him to the Citadel’s hospital wing, where it was much easier for King Regis to be close by.

Ignis knocked gently on the door. King Regis opened it with a straight back and tired, red eyes, looking as if he’d aged years in the space of days.  
  
Ignis bowed. “Your Majesty.”

When he straightened, Regis clasped Ignis’s shoulder and met his gaze. “I am so glad you’re alright.”

Ignis lowered his head, heat rising into his cheeks. He _shouldn’t_ be alright. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

“Ignis,” Regis said, in a voice that brokered no argument. Ignis forced himself to look up, and Regis’s gaze was searching. “This was not your fault. Please do not let misplaced guilt drive a wedge between you.”

He didn’t wait for Ignis to reply, but gave a final squeeze of his shoulder and left the room, closing the heavy door behind him.

“Noct,” Ignis whispered.

At 14, Noctis still wasn’t tall, but he’d shot up over the past year. He’d lost some of the boyish roundness in his cheeks, too. Gladio still towered over him during training sessions (especially as Gladio somehow continued to bulk up during Crownsguard training), but he no longer seemed a child in comparison. Noct had grown more confident, too, flashing that lopsided grin as he showed off his healing skills and landed the occasional true hit during sparring.

Laying on the bed, pale and still, tubes snaking up his arms and out of the top of his pajamas . . . Noct looked so small.

There was a chair by the bed where Regis must have been sitting. Ignis knelt on the floor instead. He reached out and took Noctis’s pale hand in his own, careful not to disturb the tube that ran out the back of his hand. He recalled how Noct had taken his own hand to heal away a paper cut in the moments before the accident.

Ah, there it was again — that watery feeling behind his eyes, that tightness at the corners of his mouth, that fizz at the back of his nose. How often had he cried in recent years? Not often. Now, tears spilled freely.

_If the prince never wakes up, what does that make me? Who am I without Noctis?_

The thought snuck its way up through his subconscious and turned his stomach with its selfishness. He wasn’t going to go there. Noct would wake up.

“I . . . we all need you to be okay, Noct. Please.”

* * *

Gladio sat by the bed, leaning forward, staring down at the floor. It physically hurt to look at Noct. He’d seen the mangled leg beneath the sheets and noticed the bandaging that wound up his back. Even if the kid woke up — and it had been four days, that was no guarantee — would he ever walk again?

He sat back with his fists balled on his knees and took an unsteady breath. The words of the Crownsguard oath came to his mind. He’d seen them sworn a dozen times and often imagined the day when himself would kneel before his father, Captain of the Crownsguard, to pledge them himself: _I swear to safeguard the line of Lucis Caelum, holding the life of the King as dearer than my own, lending my strength so that the King and Crystal may continue to guard us all as ordained by the Six . . ._

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” he growled.

Then he left to beat the shit out of some punching bags.

* * *

Seven days after the accident, Ignis sat down by Noctis’s bed with a plan. He’d done his research and found studies claiming that coma patients could benefit from being talked to. Some even purportedly woke with memories of what had been said.

“Highness,” Ignis said, trying to keep his tone light, “It seems you’re a captive audience, and it would be a pity if you got too behind on your schoolwork. Shall I read the history chapter your class has been assigned for today?”

He launched into a reading of the chapter, finding solace in words on printed pages, and his voice was steady even when teardrops blurred the text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Drop a comment if you enjoyed it (or didn't, so long as I'm not screaming into the void it's all good).
> 
> Man, this one is pure angst, but I swear it shall abate (before getting worse again obviously let's be real).


	3. Press Docket for King Regis: Oct. 24, 749 ME

**_MEMO TO: H.M.K. REGIS_ **

**_FROM: L. EDDY_ **

Your Majesty,

Please see the attached media clippings from this morning's print news cycle. As ever, they are arranged in descending order of credibility.

Sincerely,

Laurence Eddy  
Press Secretary, Kingdom of Lucis

* * *

_**Crown Prince Yet to Wake After Horrific Attack** _

INSOMNIA — Ten days after a daemon attack on a royal motorcade claimed three lives, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum remains in a coma at the Citadel’s King Tonitrus Royal Hospital.

Press secretary Laurence Eddy told reporters at yesterday evening’s press conference that the prince’s condition was stable, and his medical team remained hopeful that he would regain consciousness in the coming days.

Prince Noctis, 14, sustained severe injuries when a Marilith-type daemon attacked the motorcade just outside Insomnia city limits. The Prince had joined King Regis Lucis Caelum on a rare trip outside the Wall to tour the region of Leide and visit with leaders of local municipalities.

Later today, King Regis is slated to attend the funeral of Glaive Marcus Fidelitus, 32, who was killed in combat against the Marilith; Fidelitus was given a posthumous Royal Commendation of Distinction for his service. (See page 8 of today's print edition for a full profile of Fidelitus.) Also killed in the attack were Lida White, 28, a member of the Crownsguard who has also been given a posthumous commendation; and Rex Levus, 45, a 20-year veteran driver on the Citadel staff.

* * *

  
_**OPINION** : **Attack on Royal Family Raises Age-Old Questions of Succession**_

_By Merida Sentinus, Columnist_

With the young Crown Prince’s life in doubt, Lucis returns to an old question with no easy answers: What happens if the line of Lucis Caelum is destroyed?

Some may consider it gauche to ponder such questions while the young Prince fights for his life, but others admit that the impact of the Wall falling would put many other lives in danger.

While there are contingency plans in place for an emergency government, the Royal household has long maintained that only members of the Lucis Caelum lineage have the ability to channel the Crystal’s power to maintain the Wall. Assuming this is true, it seems surprising that His Majesty King Regis has not shown interest in the additional stability of adding more children to his family line.

While this was a point of contention between King Regis and the Lucian ruling council in the early years after the untimely death of Her Majesty Queen Aulea, it is perhaps time to reconsider the question. CONTINUED ON PAGE 5.

* * *

  
_**SOURCES SAY ANDROID BEING PREPARED IN CASE OF PRINCE NOCTIS’S UNTIMELY DEATH** _

With it becoming clear that Prince Noctis is unlikely to recover from the gruesome injuries he sustained last week, our insider sources tell us that the Insomnian Royal Family is scrambling to put the finishing touches on a lifelike android robot who could fill in for the prince and conceal his death.

“Some people think the prince actually died on scene, and this ‘coma’ business is just a stalling tactic,” said one longtime source on staff within the Citadel, who had previously blown the whistle on the secret scheme to recruit aliens into the Kingsglaive. "I've seen the robot, though, and it's pretty convincing."

[Page torn below here.]


	4. A Message from Tenebrae

Regis stood by the grave of a man who had died to protect him.

It was not the first time. It would not be the last. If it ever got easier, Regis would know his heart had truly ossified; maybe that’s what had happened to his own father.

A solemn funeral parade with full military honors had wound through the city, an endless motorcade with black banners flying and rows of Crownsguards at attention, all the works. This was one of the King’s own Glaives who had died protecting the royal family. All of the grand gestures of the day ended here, though, at a hole in the ground where a body lay cold.

A man dead.

A family missing a son.

Regis did not linger at the end; the King's presence was an honor, but tears would flow more freely once he was gone. He bowed to Marcus Fidelitus’s gray-haired mother and shock-faced father, who looked as if they'd been dropped into a bad dream. Then, took his leave.

Clarus was at his side, a one-man security detail, and they walked back through fallen leaves towards the waiting car, which felt warm after the October chill.

“Would it cheer you up if I told you I have the press docket for you to review?” Clarus said, handing it over.

Regis snorted. “This might be the only scenario where it seems a relief.”

Indeed, it may have been that perspective which kept Regis from incinerating the entire manila folder and all its contents with a flick of his wrist.

The mainline press was overall respectable, per usual, and he only glanced at the cover of the tabloid that covered Insomnian celebrity and royal “news.” They’d started the week off with mawkish tragedy; now, poor Prince Noctis was probably dead and there was a cover-up and he’d been replaced by an android, probably, Regis couldn’t even bring himself to read it.

No, what goaded him were the hints that the line of Lucis Caelum was coming to an end . . . and especially the suggestions that he sire a _spare_ to his heir.

It brought back bitter memories of the days after Aulea’s death, when the Council had pressed him to marry again. Now, he also resented the implication that Noctis was not enough. That he could be replaced.

Such dark thoughts followed him inside the Citadel, up the elevator, and to the door to his office, until one of his attendants stopped him.

"Ah, Your Majesty, you have a visitor inside who should be seen immediately," she said.

"Very well," he sighed, wishing he could have had five minutes to compose himself first. But as ever, his time was not his own. He sighed and opened the door.

It was a dog.

A beautiful one, with halo-white fur, as regal as anything else in his mahogany-and-leather office. The Crownsguard who had been kneeling to pet her back jumped to attention with a furious blush.

“I believe the . . . canine . . . is a messenger from Tenebrae, Your Majesty,” he said with a deep bow.

“I see,” Regis said, amused despite himself. “Thank you, Denarius. I believe I have this in hand.”

Regis moved forward to kneel in front of the creature and bent his head in thanks as the door clicked behind the guard. The dog opened its mouth in a pant, nosing at his stomach gently. As he brushed through the buttery soft fur with a light touch, he could sense . . . not magic. Divinity? Something beyond.

The dog licked his cheek, and he laughed. All dog, but something more.

“You have something for me?” he murmured, then saw the small parcel attached to the dog’s collar.

He unwrapped the brown paper to reveal three things: an exquisitely carved figurine of the mythical Carbuncle, a red leather notebook, and a letter, which he opened.

> _To His Majesty King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII,_
> 
> _We were grieved to hear of the injury that has befallen young Prince Noctis. Please, accept this token, which carries a messenger’s spirit and may help call the young Prince back. I believe this to be the will of the gods._
> 
> _Additionally, my daughter, the Lady Lunafreya, has requested I send you this notebook for correspondence. She thought it might be an encouragement for the Prince in his recovery. Pryna here, or her brother Umbra, can be counted on to safely carry messages back and forth._
> 
> _You know our position here, but we stand ready to do whatsoever we can to aid the Chosen King._
> 
> _May divine favour guide us all to the salvation of our star,_   
>  _Sylva Via Fleuret, Oracle of the Gods, Queen of Tenebrae_

  
Regis folded the note and tucked it into an inner pocket. His heart beat faster, remembering that day when the Crystal had marked Noctis as the long-awaited King of Light — when Regis had been cursed with the terrible knowledge of the burden that would come to rest on his son’s shoulders.

He’d been just a child. A chubby-cheeked, dark-haired child, with wide blue eyes and the sweetest little voice. To Regis, he was _still_ little more than a child, though he had been growing ever faster towards adulthood — and though he'd sworn to make the most of the days with his son, the time they spent was never enough. And now, Noctis lay broken. Unreachable.

Well. If the gods chose to intercede now, so be it. He clutched the figurine in one fist, bowed to the messenger, and headed towards the room where his son lay lost in darkness. Pryna followed him, panting lightly; she held the red notebook in her mouth.

He wondered if she knew he would not have been a faithful steward of such a gift. Undoubtedly, the Oracle's daughter knew Noctis's calling, even if he himself had never told his son.

"I will not prevent their correspondence," he said softly to Pryna. Better to remain in the gods' good graces while he prayed for a miracle. He'd deal with the consequences later.

As they passed through quiet corridors, he considered the potential cost of seeking aid from Tenebrae. Sylva had alluded to it, and the peoples’ reverence towards the Oracle meant the Empire afforded the Fleurets a long leash — but they _were_ leashed. And while the Empire had gotten quieter in recent years, there were marked signs of trouble brewing: reports of strange experiments, forces gathering, movements of troops within the borders of Lucis outside Insomnia.

When he reached hospital suite Noctis had taken over, Ignis startled upright in the chair next to the bed. The red-rimmed eyes behind his glasses slid to take in the dog as he stood and bowed.

“Your Majesty. I was just leaving.”

“I’ll be but a moment. Please stay,” Regis said, and the boy immediately sat down, as if on command. Regis suppressed a sigh.

As a young child, Ignis had treated him almost like another uncle. He’d climb up right alongside Noctis on Regis’s back for games of “ride the chocobo,” draw crayon pictures for Regis to hang in his office, and come clambering to show off the frogs he’d catch with Noctis in the garden. Now, even at not-quite-16, he treated Regis with impeccable formality. It was almost as if he was over-correcting for his early years.

He held out the fox-like figurine to Ignis, who took it, frowning.

“This is a gift from Sylva of Tenebrae, delivered by Pryna here,” Regis gestured to the dog. “She wrote that it carries a divine spirit who may be able to help Noctis recover.”

Pryna dropped the notebook on the bed, pushed it towards Noctis’s hand, and rested her nose beneath his fingers for a moment, then trotted back towards the door.

“The spirit of a messenger?” Ignis turned the tiny token over in his palms, then held it up to examine more closely. “How does it work?”

“That, she did not say,” Regis answered. “Any ideas?”

Ignis bit his lower lip. After a moment, he leaned forward and tucked the figurine beneath Noctis’s palm, which was resting on his chest. “That . . . feels right, Your Majesty.”

“So it does,” the King mused, turning to the door. “We shall see if it can do what we cannot.”

* * *

“Noct,” Ignis said. “Can you hear me?”

Noctis didn’t answer, of course. Nothing changed, just as nothing had changed for the past 10 days, and maybe never would. The monitor by the bed showed an unchanging heartbeat.

It seemed foolish to hope a trinket would do what the King’s magic and modern medicine combined could not. But . . . he supposed divine intervention couldn’t hurt.

“You saved my life,” Ignis whispered, heart beating fast. The words were thorns inside of him, and he needed to say them, but they stuck in his throat. “I’m so sorry. It’s not fair. And I can’t do anything to help you, but . . . I would do anything, Noct. If I could.”

He turned Noct’s palm over to reveal the statuette, blue with a tiny ruby horn.

“Please help him,” Ignis breathed. “Please.”

He closed the totem back in Noct’s palms, careful not to disturb the IV.


	5. Fragmented Dreamscape

Noct woke up with his cheek pressed into soft grass. He’d been dreaming — nightmares of pain followed by darkness. And now, he woke . . .

Where?

He pushed himself to his knees. The air smelled sweet, like wildflowers in the sun, and a memory flooded his mind: a picnic with his father, when he’d been very young, where he and Ignis had made flower chains from dandelions.

But there were no dandelions here, only emerald greenery in the form of grass and thick vines curling around rocky outcroppings that had parted to form a sort of clearing. He could hear water bubbling somewhere close by. A breeze sent the leafy vines waving and shifted the shadows from clouds that streaked a limitless azure sky.

Something squeaked close by, and Noct jumped to his feet in alarm. A small, fox-like creature with the largest ears he’d ever seen (not to mention a ruby horn that glinted in the sunlight) was bounding towards him with something in its mouth.

It dropped the something at Noctis’s feet, then chirruped happily.

Noct knelt and picked the object up: a phone. He impulsively held it up to his ear, then checked the screen. Dark.

He reached out a cautious hand towards the creature, who nuzzled its tiny nose into his hand. “Hey! Do you know what’s going on here, little guy?” he murmured.

The phone in his hand buzzed, and now there was a message on the screen: **Hi there! I’m Carbuncle.**

He looked down at the creature, and then the phone. “Uh, you?”

Another buzz. **Yep!**

“Woah,” Noct said. This was a weird dream, but it sure beat the ones about drowning in icy water or having his leg crushed by boulders or that one with the dude getting stabbed on the throne.

He’d take it.

The phone buzzed again, interrupting his thoughts. **This is the world of your dreams. Maybe take a look around? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**

Noct stood up. “You’ll stay?” he asked the creature, who brushed against his legs like a friendly cat in reassurance. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here, but he knew he’d been alone for a long time; having another living being with him was nice.

So he wandered, climbing up rocks fuzzy with moss and splashing through puddles that soaked the ankles above his sneakers. Maybe it should have scared him that he couldn’t see any signs of the city . . . but it was amazing. Like the pictures in travel guidebooks.

And the blue sky was endless. He wondered if there were stars here, at night. He hadn’t seen many stars before; Insomnia was too bright.

The little creature nudged at his ankles. **Maybe this way?** He seemed to be looking for something.

“Where are we going?” Noctis asked, chasing after the waving white-blue tail.

 **You haven’t just dozed off. You’re out cold.** Carbuncle made a sad sort of chirrup. **If you want to wake up and see everyone again, we’re gonna have to find the exit!**

“What do you mean, _if_ I want to — hey!”

Carbuncle had plunged ahead, through a narrow pass between rocks. Noctis squeezed through after him, then came up short as a massive hand as big as a truck reached around the corner, followed by the head of a giant who looked as if he had been roughly chiseled out of stone.

Noct flung his body backwards, flattening himself against some rocks, but Carbuncle was chirping happily next to him.

**Don’t worry about that guy. He may look scary, but he’s really a gentle giant.**

“Whatever you say,” Noct breathed as the giant peered with a stone-encrusted eye through the rocks at him, then disappeared in a haze of golden light. _Astral._ Carbuncle was dashing the other way before his brain could catch up. “Hey!”

**Over here!**

He turned just in time to see the creature’s white-blue tail disappearing into a dense thicket of vines where the rocks parted. He sprinted after, afraid of being alone again, pushing through the rope-like stems until he emerged from his bedroom wardrobe.

“Woah,” he said, staring up at the room, which was enormous. Or actually, maybe it was him who had been shrunk, because Carbuncle (who was nosing inside an empty chips bag) looked huge, too.

It looked like he had just left the room recently, because no one had cleaned up after him. There were comic books strewn on the floor, sneakers left where he’d kicked them off after sparring practice, and textbooks spilling from his backpack against the wall, so big he could have climbed them like stairs.

The phone buzzed again. **I think we’re getting closer! What do you think?**

“I don’t know," he said, walking beneath his wardrobe, then stopping in his tracks. From the shadowy recesses, spindly figures that did not look at all friendly were moving towards him.

He backed away from the shapes, out from under the dresser . . . and tripped over the giant lace of his discarded sneaker.

As he scrambled to his feet, of the figures grabbed his wrist, and it burned like fire but screamed _loss, death_ into his mind. He looked up, terrified, knowing it would engulf him — 

Carbuncle jumped in front of him, snarling at the creature, ruby light shining. The thing let go and backed away, but others were encroaching, and fear thrummed in Noct's body.

 _Chirp!_ He fumbled for the phone. **You have to fight, Noct! 💪 You can do it!**

He leapt to his feet, shaking. With the logic of dreams, he knew he could summon a weapon, so he did. It was a blunted practice sword, the type he used to run through stances with Gladio until his arms shook. He raised it and ran at one of the dark shapes. One of the nightmares.

"Go AWAY," he screamed, swinging the sword into it with a crunch that sent it flying. It hit the wall and curled into plumes of dark smoke.

More were coming, but now . . . now he was mad.

He ran towards them, taking wild swings. But his stance was off ("if you tilt forward you're gonna get taken down every time," Gladio's voice said in his head) and one knocked him off his feet, breath-stealing cold, failure, _you can't do this, little Prince, you are just not enough for all they expect you to —_

He rolled out from under it and swung up, remembering his training. The hit connected and sent one of the things staggering. He took advantage of the moment to whirl towards another and plunge the blunted tip into its chest. It cut clearly through, and he started staggering towards the next enemy and fell into a defensive stance, and parried when it swung an arm down like a cudgel, smelling of loneliness, whispering _no one has time to deal with your constant neediness_ and he swung sword through where a neck should be, and it puffed into nothingness.

He was ready to be done with this.

“How do I get out of here, Carbuncle? How do I wake up?” he asked, whipping around to make sure nothing else was coming.

**We need to find the exit. Any ideas? It’s your dream, after all.**

Exit, escape . . . He didn’t know. He ran to the door to the hallway, but the gap beneath was too small to squeeze through, even as miniaturized as he was. 

But there was a gap in the baseboard where light shone through. He got down on his stomach and army-crawled through, out onto sun-bathed pavement.

It seemed like he was the right size once more. The scene was familiar, though it was nowhere he'd been. Stonework, sea, carving archways . . . “Altissia!” he exclaimed, turning around in delight. He’d read about this place, with its canals and gondolas and the open ocean. It was more beautiful than he could have imagined, though there were no people . . .

Only spindle-legged shadows, he realized with a jolt.

He grimaced, summoning a weapon again: this time, the training daggers Ignis favored. He’d helped his friend practice with them, sometimes, though he was pretty sure it was Iggy’s way of tricking him into extra sparring practice. But Ignis was more fun to fight than Gladio. It was much fairer.

He was feeling more confident now after banishing the creatures from his bedroom, and he took the first shadow down without much trouble, though as it died, his stomach lurched with a sick feeling like _you’ve messed up and your dad is definitely going to find out._

He ignored it and swept a high kick towards another one of the creatures, but when his foot connected, he feel the sensation of drowning in deep water, and something told him _there is no room for who you are, only what you must do_ and he wobbled ("stance, Noct, always recover your stance" he heard Ignis remind him) before he thrust the daggers through its chest and spun to face another, this one electric with pain like lightning, promising _you will always be lonely_ before he took it down with a yell.

“What are these things?” he panted to Carbuncle, who was snarling at the black smoke of the final nightmare as it curled into the sky. His phone buzzed immediately.

**They’re the nightmares you’ve been having 🙁 They were a bit easier to fight off when you were younger, you know.**

Noctis shivered and ran along the stone bridges, looking for an escape. When he rounded one corner, something enormous emerged from the sea, like a giant serpent with fin-like wings, and it streamed through the air with an ethereal grace. Though it was moving away, dread blossomed in his stomach.  
  
"Are you going to tell me that one's friendly, too?" he asked Carbuncle.

**Er, no. But she'll come come around. Eventually.**

Finally, he came to a long bridge. As he ran, the sunlight dimmed, the novel scent of the sea was replaced by the familiarity of wet pavement, and he emerged onto the Citadel’s front steps with a mist of drizzle on his face. The sky was gray and cloudy.

**Aha! This must be the place! Up ahead is where your dream ends: the one place you feel safest.**

The Citadel? Well, it was his home. He supposed it made sense. He slowed down, sat on the steps, and waited. The drizzle stopped, and golden rays appeared through the clouds as the sun began to set in the city. His phone buzzed again.

**I remember you used to wait for your dad while watching the sun set. You’d wait until dinner, hoping he’d show. But nobody came. After a while, you learned to cope with the disappointment — by pretending you didn’t care. 😞**

Noctis stared at Carbuncle, suddenly feeling sour. He’d been pretending to not care — or he really hadn't cared, right? Carbuncle was tripping him up — for a long time now. It worked a lot better than sitting on the steps waiting for the King of Lucis to show ever had.

“How do you know about that?" he demanded. "And why are you bringing it up now?”

 **I know a lot about you. Pretty impressive, huh?** A moment, then another buzz. **Don’t be mad.**

As it turned out, Noctis wouldn’t have had time even if he’d wanted to be. Something dark was emerging from the ground, but it wasn’t another nightmare shadow.

It was an Iron Giant.

With one sweep of its sword, the giant smashed Carbuncle back into the steps, and Noctis screamed. He ran towards the giant, which loomed over him, as impassable as a mountain.

“I won’t let you take my friend from me,” he shouted up at it.

Noctis held his hand to the side again, but this time, the sword was not blunted and his hand was not his own. Or it was, but bigger, and stronger, and when he swung at the giant, it connected with a resounding clang.

He knew he could, so he did: he warped up high, then came crashing back down at the giant, out and up and down, giving and taking hits with manic, desperate energy. It felt like _flying._

This time, he heard Carbuncle in his head: **Someone doesn’t want you to wake up. That’s why the monster is here.**

Then, he was broadsided by steel and flung onto the flagstones of the circle drive. He tried to scramble back on his feet, but his right leg gave out completely, and he couldn’t. Stand. Panic blinded his mind. The massive blade was coming down at an incredible speed, and he couldn’t move . . . 

But he could warp.

He flung the sword and followed, materializing at the faceplate of the giant with the sword impaled neatly through the slit in the armor. The giant died with a groan of armor and shuddering vibrations, collapsing in on itself back towards the ground. Noctis rode downwards with it, and when he reached the bottom, he found he still couldn’t stand, so he knelt on his left leg and braced himself with the sword.

It was unlike any weapon he’d ever seen. There were gears integrated into the bulky hilt, and the blade hummed subtly, almost as if there were an engine within.

Carbuncle ran lightly up his back, wrapping himself around Noct’s neck, and then suddenly, Noct was 14 again, and he stood up on two sound legs.

Carbuncle made a happy little chirrup. **You did it! 🎉**

“Somehow,” Noct said. All of a sudden, he was so tired.

**I know it was hard. But always remember: You can do hard things, Noctis. We believe in you.**

A sleek black car turned into the circle drive, stopping so that Noctis was standing right by the back door.

**Hey, that’s your dad’s car! Now I get it — THIS is your safe place, where you can always be with your dad.**

“Will you come with me?” Noctis asked, running a fond finger over the Carbuncle’s nose. The creature nuzzled his neck.

**I’ll be with you in your darkest dreams. Don’t worry, Noct. Everyone is waiting for you.**

* * *

Noctis dreamed he was riding in the back of the Regalia, laying across the seat with his head in his father’s lap.

He was younger. His father’s hair was still black. It was dark outside the car, and they drove through the city at night, with streetlights creating a gentle strobe of illumination that blurred together with neon signs and streetlights. It was never truly dark in Insomnia.

His father’s hand was brushing through his hair, calloused fingers stroking with a gentle rhythm.

He opened his eyes and looked up at his father’s face. “Dad.”

“You are safe, Noctis,” his father said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He slid back into sleep in the security of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and I will see you on Friday! *waves*


	6. Lost Dog

Prompto Argentum stared through the bakery window at the cupcake display. He felt extremely pathetic.

He’d planned on stopping to buy one on the way home from school, but now that he was here . . . well. The only thing sadder than _not_ eating a birthday cupcake would be to eat a store-bought cupcake he’d purchased _by_ himself, _for_ himself, _alone_ on his birthday.

Cue the sad violins.

It was really the birthday part that did it. Like, buying a cupcake for yourself on a random Tuesday was self-care, probably. But a cupcake shouldn’t be trying to fill in for your family. It was too much to ask of buttercream swirls.

So he walked away from the window, wondering how else he should spend the evening of his 14th birthday. It wasn't like he had any reason to feel bad about it. Sure, his parents were gone — no biggie, same as last year, and actually also the year before that, now that he mentioned it — but they’d had a really beautiful new camera shipped to the house. The one he’d been eyeing forever.

Which he’d opened yesterday, _as you do._

Now, he kind of regretted jumping the gun. At least it would have given him something exciting to do.

Although . . . maybe he’d take the camera out for some shots tonight. A photo spree sounded good. He had taken a few (hundred) pictures yesterday, but it had gotten dark pretty quickly, and he hadn’t wanted to take the camera to school with him. This was a _proper,_ real live DSLR, not some dinky point-and-shoot like the one he’d toted around in the years of his youth (until yesterday).

He jogged the rest of the way home, even though he was still in his school clothes, and when he got home he changed into his sweats. The pants were a little short on him. Over the summer, he’d grown by a painful number of inches (and had shed a lot of his chubbiness, too). He’d even started running. He was thinking about trying out for track next year. . . . if thinking about meant he’d printed out a training plan, pasted it to the fridge, and followed it to the letter, no excuses. He was determined that high school was going to be _different._ He was going to make _friends._

Somehow.

But for now, it was time to master the f-stop on his (his!) new camera.

He walked around the neighborhood looking for good shots. The fading autumn light was perfect, and he snapped a million leaf photos, and incredibly textured close-ups of coppery tree bark covered in a patina of moss, and action shots of a cardinal in flight that — miracle of miracles — didn’t come out blurry once he ratcheted up the shutter speed.

He was coming back through a copse of pine trees in one of those little city parks when he saw the dog.

She had the most beautiful thick white fur and faint markings around her eyes. He crouched to take a photo, twisting the ring for that sweet optical zoom to get a closer shot as he peered through he viewfinder.

Huh. That didn’t look good.

He stood and popped the lens cap back on to jog closer. The dog was caught by the leg in a nasty bit of plastic fencing that must have been left over from a construction project; red stained the fur around where the garish orange plastic was cutting into her hind leg.

“Hey, girl, easy there,” Prompto said. He crept closer, hand out, but the dog didn’t seem spooked. At all. She actually whined and inched closer to him; Prompto’s heart melted into goo. Poor pup.

He knelt beside her, still going slow. “Hey, there’s a good girl. Let’s get you outta here. Let me see . . .”

He fished in the pockets of his sweatpants for his keys. Not the greatest tool, but it should work. Kneeling down, he very carefully eased the plastic further down her leg (she whined again, and it was the saddest sound in the world) until it had slid down far enough off the wound. It wouldn’t go down any further, so he took the house key and began sawing through the flexible material.

It took a while, but it worked: the dog was free. She took a single limping step and fell back down with a whine. 

Prompto peered at the leg. “Hmm. I think you’ll be okay if I clean this up. You must be hungry, too.”

At that, the dog nuzzled her head into his lap — and licked his cheek, which made Prompto laugh.

“Ahh, okay, okay,” he exhaled. “Why don’t you come home with me? And I’ll take pictures of you to put up around the neighborhood, so we can find your owner.”

What his parents didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. Besides, no one with a heart would deny this little doggo anything.

So he hoisted the dog up in his arms (which was hard, she wasn’t that little) and took her home. By the time he got there, he was covered in sweat and blowing his damp bangs off his forehead to see where he was going.

It took some wrangling with the shower, but he managed to wash and clean the wound. Finally, he wrapped it up with one of his clean spare handkerchiefs, which his mom had had embroidered with his name, and which he had never once used for their intended purpose.

He took a few photos so he could make some “Lost Dog” posters tomorrow, then made up a little bed of spare pillows and blankets for his furry guest.

But when he climbed into bed, the dog jumped up, too, padding with soft feet around his ankles before laying down in a circle with her head on his shins. He probably shouldn’t have allowed it, but her warm weight on his feet felt so good.

It meant he wasn’t alone.

“Thanks for the birthday surprise, mystery pup,” Prompto said as he turned off the light. Selfishly, he wondered if maybe no one would claim her. Maybe he could somehow convince his parents to let him keep her . . . or he could just put her in a kennel when they were home. She could be his top-secret hidden pet.

But in the morning, the dog was gone.

* * *

Prompto was out for a run on a Saturday morning two months later when the letter arrived.

He rounded the corner by his house and slowed to a walk, feeling the burn of his cramped side as he sucked in wintry air. Insomnia didn’t get crazy cold and snow — not like the mountains he’d sworn to get photos of someday — but it was still chilly enough that he was looking forward to getting inside and showering.

He flipped open the mailbox on his way inside and was surprised to see a letter.

Not a bill. Not a piece of junk mail. A real, old-school letter. When he took it out of the mailbox, the envelope felt thick and velvety against his fingertips. There was no return address, but it was postmarked from . . . Tenebrae?

And on the front was his name, “Mr. Prompto Argentum,” sweeping across the envelope in a calligraphy font. Nope, scratch that — on closer inspection, it was handwritten. Maybe a party invite from one of the crazy rich kids at school? But in that case, the “Mr.” was pretty weird. And, again . . . Tenebrae.

One way to find out. He went inside, took off his running shoes, and opened it at the kitchen table.

> _Dear Prompto,_
> 
> _I hope this letter reaches you in good health. My name is Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. I believe you are the one who found my dog, Pryna, as your name was on the kerchief used to bind her wound. I hope you don’t mind that we did a bit of sleuthing to find you (thankfully, you seem to be the only Prompto in Insomnia). I very much wanted to thank the person who showed her such kindness. You have my gratitude forever._
> 
>   
>  _I had sent Pryna to see Prince Noctis. I bet you’re friends with Noctis, aren’t you? I hope so. He will certainly need a good friend in the days ahead._
> 
> _Sincere regards,_  
>  _Lunafreya Nox Fleuret_

Prompto immediately re-read it. And then re-re-read it. And then smelled it, because it definitely smelled good, and he'd never known that was an _option_ for letters.

It did not compute.

First of all, Prompto wasn’t especially up on current events, but he was fairly sure he’d heard of the Nox Fleurets before. Oracles.

Second of all — him? Friends with Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum?

They’d barely even met before. I mean, they’d gone to the same school for years, but it wasn’t like you just walked up to the freaking Crown Prince of Lucis and asked him to lend you a pencil.

Okay, bad example, because actually, Prince Noctis _had_ once lent Prompto a pencil. It had been in the only class they’d shared, a health class which had lasted only one quarter. But Prompto hadn’t _asked_ — he’d just been frantically searching his backpack in the moments before a standardized test, and the Prince had leaned over and handed him one. Prompto had said thanks and given it back afterward. The end.

Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t really sure if Noctis had friends at school. People seemed eager to get in his good graces, but he seemed to specialize in finding ways to be alone. Not that he was stand-offish. Well, okay, maybe a little stand-offish. And also sometimes definitely rude when he snubbed the kids of important people who were clearly trying to fish for royal favor. But he’d always seemed like a decent-enough guy.

But no. Sorry, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. Prompto Argentum was not friends with any kind of royalty.

With that fact straight in his head, he read the letter again, then sat back.

Okay, so he wasn’t Prince Noctis’s friend. But Lunafreya clearly hoped he was. Because . . . because Noctis needed one.

Prompto sure got that.

He stood up and hung the letter on the fridge, right next to the training schedule for track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's following along! Drop a line, I'd love to hear from ya :)


	7. Seven Steps to Making it Through the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you're getting notified about this twice -- there was some weirdness when I posted it the first time, but it's fixed now. Also, updates will now be every Tuesday and Thursday because I'm far enough ahead for that!
> 
> Also, pssst . . . Luna is 15 because it fixed all kinds of weirdness.

_October 22_

Dear Prince Noctis,

I pray this note finds you in recovery and that Carbuncle has been a help to you. He is a funny little creature!

If you would like, we can use this notebook to write back and forth. My dogs, Pryna and Umbra, are always happy to play messenger. My mother says it would be good for the future Oracle and the future King to know one another a bit more. For my part, I think it can be a bit lonely being "next in line."

Sincerely,  
Lunafreya

_January 5_

Dear Lunafreya,

Lonely is a good word for it. I’m not very good with words, but I will do my best. Having someone to talk to sounds nice. I have to stay in bed a lot these days.

I’m sorry it took so long for me to write, but my dad just gave me the book today. I’ve been pretty out of it. Will you tell me about Tenebrae? I’d like to know what it’s like.

— Noct

_January 25_

Dear Noctis,

It’s hard to say, as I've never left Tenebrae, so I don't have anything to compare it to. But when people visit, they talk most about about the fields of blue sylleblossoms. (I’ve pressed one onto the next page for you to see — they are prettier fresh, but this one will last.)

I live at Fenestala, which is a manor house by a village. My brother, Ravus, lives here, too, as well as my mother and Gentiana, who I suppose you could call my tutor. She’s lived with us since I was born. I’ll be 16 in September, so I’m only about a year older than you.

Sincerely,  
Lunafreya

_February 18_

Dear Lunafreya,

Thank you for the flower. Tenebrae sounds beautiful. We don’t really have fields here in Insomnia, though there are some forest preserves. Lots of tall skyscrapers (like the Citadel where I live). I’ll find a postcard to put in the book, too.

I have only been outside Insomnia once, and considering how that ended, I doubt my father will let me leave again for a very long time. I hope I can see Tenebrae someday, though.

It sounds nice to have a brother. My friend Ignis and I kind of grew up together. He’s studying to be my advisor someday, but really, he does a lot for me already, even though he’s only a year and a half older than me. I think you would like him.

Do you go to school or does Ms. Gentiana tutor you in everything? I used to go to school, but now I have a tutor. She’s fine, but I hope to be at high school next year.

— Noctis

_March 14_

Dear Noctis,

Thank you for the postcard! The city looks so big. I’ve never seen buildings that tall.

Gentiana tutors me in most things, but I also study with my mother often, to learn how to be the Oracle someday. She teaches me about the Astrals, how to pray, and how to help people who need it. I’ve learned a little bit about healing, too. Ravus used to tutor me in math, but he’s too busy now. He is 28 years old and the bravest person I know.

It would be nice to go to school, though. I don’t know many other people my own age. Ravus wanted to go to university in Gralea but my mother didn’t think it was a good idea.

Sincerely,  
Lunafreya

_April 4_

Dear Lunafreya,

It’s been cold and raining here a lot. It’s hard for me to get out of bed sometimes. I hope the weather is nicer where you are.

I’m sorry I don’t have much to say, but I wanted to write something to get the notebook back to you. I will think of something better next time.

— Noct

P.S. You can call me Noct. My friends do. Do you ever go by a nickname, like Luna?

* * *

Noctis woke up knowing it was a bad day.

He lay in the downy comfort of his covers, not wanting to move . . . but needing to move. Stiffness snaked down his body, starting in his spine and wrapping around his right leg with uncomfortable pressure.

  
**Step one: Open your eyes.**

It would be infinitely worse if someone came in and decided to rush the getting-up process along — especially if that someone was Gladio — so he forced himself to open his eyes.

Once he’d managed that, he stared at the patch of sunlight from the window on the wall. It had rained all night, and the droplets on the window cast little shadows of their own. The sheer curtains cast a shifting shadow as they swayed with the air from the heater. He wished he could just stare at the wall all day.

But the tightness that radiated from his knee and crawled up his thigh promised nothing good. He needed to stretch, and he would have to get up for that.

  
**Step two: Sit up.**

He gritted his teeth and braced his hands behind him on the mattress to lever himself up. Then, he grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, rolling his upper body forward as he swung his legs over the side of the bed in one agonizing movement.

He squeezed the pillow hard, trying to breathe through it and not think about what came next.

When the fire in his leg burned low enough, he moved his palm to his knee. He squeezed his eyes shut and began massaging his thigh, at first only able to manage a brush against the angry muscles, but slowly adding pressure, forcing himself to keep going.

A mix of healing magic and surgical intervention had saved his life, but it also made treating the injury complicated. Some things had knit back together and healed; others had not. The surgeons had missed spots of damage where the skin had healed but not the underlying injury. They had needed to bring him back in for another surgery, and another . . . and now, it just was what it was. He saw the physiotherapist every other day to try and torture the leg into working for him, but it felt like things hadn't gotten better in a long while.

**Step three: Stand up.**

When he had worked some sort of flexibility back into his knee and thigh, he reached for the cane leaning against the nightstand. Yesterday he’d woken up feeling better and had gone without it, but had lived to regret it on the way back. Today, though . . . he knew he wouldn’t make a single step without it. He put his better leg down first, then braced with the cane and set his bad leg down, groaning out loud despite himself.

  
**Step four: Walk.**

He didn’t let himself stop. He limped to the bathroom, relieved himself, and leaned heavily against the sink to wash his hands. He splashed cold water on his face while he was at it; he was already sweaty, but showering was beyond him today, so it would have to do. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste to take back into the room with him, then hobbled back out of the bathroom.

  
**Step five: Get ready.**

He weighed heading to the armchair, but it would only postpone the inevitable. Plus, he’d have to stand up again, which would be a waste of energy. So instead, he limped to the wheelchair waiting by the wardrobe.

He brushed his teeth with a thin line of toothpaste, since he wasn't near the sink, and his stomach lurched when he swallowed after. 

The sweatpants he’d worn to bed would have to be good enough. He opened the wardrobe and caught the cuff of a hoodie, then tugged it down off the hanger and threw it on.

Dangit. He’d left the comb in the bathroom, and the wheelchair couldn’t go through the doorway. Standing up to get it wasn’t worth it. He raked his hands through his bed-head, trying to catch the worst of the tangles and smoothen the parts sticking up awkwardly. He couldn’t see himself, for better or worse; the mirror over the dresser was too high.

Noctis leaned back in the wheelchair and stared out the window. It looked gray and cloudy, like it might rain. So much for getting outside today.

  
**Step six: Deal with people.**

Someone knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer.

Gladio strode in, wearing his Crownsguard-in-training uniform, and stopped short. He frowned in turn at the unmade bed, the wheelchair, and Noctis, who slid his eyes back out the window and said nothing.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Gladio grumbled.

“Can you grab my phone?” Noctis asked.

Gladio picked it up off the bed and tossed it at him; Noct caught it before it could hit his lap, and Gladio wheeled him out of the room. “Did you eat anything?”

“Not hungry,” Noctis said.

Gladio snorted. Neither of them said anything as he pushed Noctis to the elevator. They rode it down a floor, to the study where his tutor, Ms. Armaugh, was waiting. Noctis focused on keeping his face still and his hands from trembling. He could feel eyes on him in the hall, but he didn’t look up.

“Good morning to you, too,” Gladio muttered as he knocked on the door and waited for the tutor to open it. As soon as she did, Gladio gave her a wave and left.

“Good morning, Prince Noctis,” Ms. Armaugh said as he wheeled himself inside the study. It was a cozy room, with plush woven rugs, walls wrapped in bookcases, and dark oak paneling.

It had its own stove and sink, as well as a bathroom, so Noctis didn’t need to parade his infirmity around the Citadel during the day. His father’s press secretary had personally accosted him in the hallway to ask that he please avoid going out in his wheelchair anywhere that a camera could catch him, as the images counteracted the story of recovery the Crown was working so hard to push. (All for _his_ sake, of course.)

Ms. Armaugh moved aside the chair so he could roll up to the table. “Tea?” she asked smoothly.

“Yes, please,” he said, using the moments she busied herself with the kitchenette’s kettle to bury his face in shaking hands, feeling the tightness crawl up his spine, pulling himself back together so that he was pale and still in the chair when she set the mug in front of him.

It was going to be a long day.

By the time lunch rolled around, Noctis was in agony, stomach turning from the buzz of nausea. Sitting in one place for too long hurt just as much as walking too much. He took lunch with his tutor, normally, but after a few bites of whatever was blandest on his plate he was been done.

It must have shown on his face. She called the Crownsguard attending outside the door — Beatrice today, a tall, imposing guard with the loudest, friendliest laugh he'd ever heard — to bring him back to his rooms.

“Want me to push you?” Beatrice asked as Noctis wheeled out while trying to avoid the stupid too-small door frame. He wasn’t very good with the wheelchair; it was hard to steer. And it was hard to practice when no one seemed to want to admit he needed it on some days, and no one wanted to see him in it, and gods forbid someone took a picture of him and put it in a newspaper for the whole world to see.

“No,” he said, “thanks.”

She trailed after him as he stubbornly pushed his way through the halls. It wouldn’t make a pretty picture, but he was beyond caring. After they got into the elevator, though, someone thrust an arm inside to hold the door. Beatrice straightened and shifted to stand in front of him.

“Ah, young Prince Noctis,” the man said. “Mind if I ride up with you? I’ve an appointment with the King and I’m afraid I’m nearly late."

Noctis made a noise that he vaguely hoped passed for a yes. Stopping was the worst. As long as he was moving forward, he at least had a goal to focus on; just being still made him want to collapse and not get up.

As the elevator hummed upwards, the man checked his own reflection in the mirrored elevator wall and adjusted his tie. “I do hope you’re doing well, Your Highness. Although, if you don’t mind, I do have a small question for you that has been the matter of some debate among members of the Council.”

Beatrice was tight with tension now, openly glaring at the man, who seemed not to notice her looming over him. Noctis didn’t say anything.

“It is just that everyone is oh so hopeful that your, ah, ability to continue the Lucis Caelum line has been quite _unaffected_ by your injuries —”

“That is enough,” Beatrice hissed, fully interspersing herself between Noctis and the man just as the elevator doors opened.

“Ah, well, I suppose time will tell,” the man said smoothly with a mocking little half-bow on the way out.

“Your Highness, I’m so sorry,” Beatrice said with violence shaking her words. She was pushing him out of the elevator, though she hadn’t asked.

Red heat engulfed Noctis as the man’s implication finally caught up with him. It bloomed in his chest and washed over his body in a wave of pure shame. It hadn't even crossed his mind that people might think . . . _that_. And now, he wished the ground would open up and swallow him alive. 

They’d arrived at his room, and Beatrice was looking at him with open concern. “Do you want me to call for —”

“No,” Noctis said in a tone that he hoped said _please leave_. “Thank you.”

She bowed and took her leave, closing the door behind her.

  
**Step seven: Hide from the world.**

Someone knocked on the door. Noctis didn’t answer.

Someone opened the door and tried to talk to him. He stayed under the covers.

Rinse, repeat, until the sun went down and everyone finally left him alone.

* * *

Regis swirled the two fingers of whisky around the cut crystal rocks glass, watching the amber liquid in the dim light of his desk lamp as if it held the secret to fixing everything.

He had lived long enough to know it would fix precisely nothing, but sipped at it anyway, savoring the burn.

His desk was covered in evidence that nothing seemed to be going well in any quarter: a report from Drautos on the Kingsglaive’s latest skirmish with MT troopers they’d found scouting outside Steyliff Grove, a request from Cor for the Crownsguard to apportion additional aid to Hunters fielding record-high numbers of daemon infestations, nine requests for private audiences with him from various Council members.

Meanwhile, his son was still in pain that he couldn’t fix. And apparently, he couldn’t shield him from the cruelty of their world, either.

They had been unable to ascertain the identity of whoever had accosted Noctis in the elevator; the security camera footage was at the wrong angle, and the guard couldn't place him. He hated to admit it, but perhaps it was for the best. Regis’s entire body was rigid with fury just thinking about it. It had been a long time since he'd smashed anyone's face in, but he thought he still had it in him.

The solution, his advisors suggested, was to have Noctis back in the public eye. To show that he was healing just fine. The problem was that his son was _far_ from fine, and he did not care to add the burden of faking it to his son’s shoulders.

Not yet.

He tossed the rest of the whisky back and stood, setting the glass down with vehemence. He was getting nowhere here, and he had best try and rest tonight if he cared to play at patience tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for following along! Say hello or drop a favorite line in the comments; I will burn them to fuel future chapters ;)


	8. Before and After

Ignis’s phone buzzed, and he reached for it while finishing the sentence of the textbook he was studying. It was on do-not-disturb, but he’d set it so that Noct could still reach him.

He thumbed open the text from Noct: **k**. Sigh. Scrolling up through their recent message history revealed lots of the same.

> _I’ll be over at 11 with lunch._
> 
> **k**
> 
> _Do you want me to pick up the new issue of that comic?_
> 
> _Noct?_
> 
> **No thx**

And then the next week:

> _I'm bringing lunch at 11._
> 
> **k**

He kept scrolling up, through the months, until he got to early October. To . . before.

 _Before_ , Noct would send him unsolicited stupid GIFs, like that one of a cartoon moogle doing the Chocobo Dance, or the one of a guy walking down the street falling into an open sewer hole. Ignis usually hadn’t replied to those.

He stopped at a conversation they'd had the weekend before the attack.

> **Hey do you want to play chess?**
> 
> **Iggy?**
> 
> **Igz**
> 
> **Speccy man**
> 
> _Sure, Noct. I’ll be free in about 45 minutes; do you want to meet in the dining room at 2?_
> 
> **Igz u don’t use semicolons in texts**
> 
> **Also yes**
> 
> **Sir** 🧐
> 
> _Ha ha. See you there._

He remembered that afternoon playing chess. It hadn’t lasted long; Ignis handily outclassed Noct at games of strategy. But Noct hadn’t seemed to mind, and afterward, he’d dragged Ignis through the corridors to a greenhouse garden where he’d discovered a koi pond and they took turns throwing them crumbs of bread, seeing which of the orange creatures would surface first. They’d given them all nicknames and made meaningless bets.

Actually, now that he thought about it, chess had probably just been the bait to lure Ignis there so he could show off his new find. Noct wasn’t so bad at strategy himself.

He had made a lot of progress since the accident. At first, his only steps had come with the physiotherapist, bracing himself on parallel bars and slowly learning to walk again. Then, bad days had meant a wheelchair, and better days had meant the cane — though pushing it could things south.

Now, nearly six months later, the wheelchair was folded up in the closet, ready to come out on a bad day, but not worth keeping out. Noct used the cane often, but sometimes went without it.

The back-and-forth caused rumors among those who didn’t understand that the Prince could be fine to walk his own one day with only a bit of a limp, and then the next day struggle making it down the corridor with his cane.

Rather than rolling the entire dining trolley into Noct’s room, he knocked, opened the door, stuck his foot in to keep it open, and grabbed the tray off the top.

“Hi, Noct,” he called as he backed into the room. 

The Prince was flopped on his stomach on the bed, chin resting on hands in front of him, staring at the wall. He was in black sweats.

“Hey,” he said. He pushed himself backwards, sliding off the bed to stand, and limped over to the table where Ignis was setting down the tray.  
  
“How are you doing today?” Ignis asked, sliding his plate over and taking a seat.

Noct grunted. The verbal equivalent of “k," Ignis thought.

They ate in silence for a while . . . or he ate, and Noct pushed rice and beef around his plate after the first couple bites. Ignis restrained himself from nagging.

“School okay?” Noct asked after a while.

“It’s going well,” Ignis said. “I’m working on a paper about ancient Solheim ruins with my history tutor.”

“Cool,” Noct said automatically.

“What about you?”

“S’fine.”

Ignis ran his thumb over the condensation on his drinking glass. Noct wasn’t going to school; he was being tutored privately to get caught up on the rest of the school year. Actually, Ignis didn’t think Noct had left the Citadel at all since he had been injured. Being so isolated couldn't be helping his spirits.

“Do you . . . want to go see those koi again?” Ignis asked.

Noct regarded him across the table for a moment, and Ignis thought it might have been the first time they’d made eye contact since he’d gotten there.

“Do you remember where it is?” Noct asked.

“Fifteenth floor. I think maybe the corridor on the left after you get off the elevator.”

Noct bit his lip for a moment, looking down again, like he was thinking through something. “Yeah, okay."

Ignis stacked the dishes back on the tray and brought them out to the trolley, then came back to find Noct pulling on a black long-sleeve jacket with a tall collar. They set out down the carpeted hall, Noct using the cane and tucking his chin down so that the bottom of his face was obscured by the jacket. Between that and the hair falling into his eyes, it was hard to tell his expression, though Ignis kept sneaking glances.

They took the elevator to the 15th floor, and Noct tensed when a couple of other people came in after them, but Ignis nodded pleasantly and no one said anything.

The 15th floor was mostly guest suites, and as such, it was built to impress: wide hallways tiled in marble, wallpaper with a damask in a subtle sheen, and lush green plants in copper planters.

“I think it was this hallway,” Ignis said, starting down the first hallway, but Noct reached for his arm to stop him.

“Can you — can you check?” he asked.

Ignis’s eyes snapped to Noct’s face. Carefully blank. “Of course,” he said. “Just a moment.”

The greenhouse had been at the end of a hallway, around a corner, so Ignis had to jog all the way to the end and turn the corner before he realized that no, this was not the right hallway. He jogged back and shook his head.

“Must be this one, then,” Noct said, pushing off the wall he’d been leaning against. They set off down the other corridor together.

This floor was often mostly empty — though a few times a year, it would fill with visiting diplomats or government officials from outside the Wall, there for Founder’s Day or a conference. Today, it was quiet.

Ignis held the door open for Noct as the entered the greenhouse, which smelled of earth and living, green things — remarkable for a room embedded within a skyscraper, Ignis thought. Marble walkways wound around stone planters brimming with vines and flowers; misters hung suspended on trees, and rainbows filtered through the fine mist. Fountains burbled, and a songbird sang.

It had been delightful in the fall, but now, in winter . . . It was a living wonder.

Ignis grinned and turned to Noct, whose face was awash in dread.

“Noct, are you—” No, wrong question. “What’s wrong?”

“Just tricky,” Noct mumbled, and Ignis noticed heat rising in his cheeks. “Can you . . . can I hold onto your arm?”

Ignis proffered it silently, and they stepped inside.

As they navigated towards the back of the courtyard, Ignis noticed the squeak of their shoes on the polished tile. Noct’s arm tensed on his when they got close to a mister, and the floor near it was indeed slick. They went very slowly past it, and then Noct almost tripped over a green hose that snaked across the path, but they made it to the koi pond without incident.

However, Noct was clearly wiped. He dropped onto the stone bench (and thank Astrals there was a bench — Ignis hadn’t even thought about that, or the marble floors, or the misters, or the long walk down the corridor, or a lot of other things) and closed his eyes while Ignis stood and watched the fish swim in the pond.

The last time they’d been here, Noct had practically yanked him down the corridor, and they’d sat up on one of the retaining walls, kicking their legs in the air and tossing crumbs down.

“You can sit, too,” Noct said, and so Ignis did.

“Maybe we could get out next weekend,” Ignis said. "I could see if I'm allowed to drive you. Or we could ask for a driver."

Noct’s head jerked up and he stared at Ignis. “You . . . got your license?”

“Oh. Yes, in February.”

“Your birthday,” Noctis breathed, looking down at his knees. “I . . . I’m sorry.”

It took Ignis a minute longer than the second it should have to realize that Noct was feeling guilty for forgetting his birthday. Two months ago.

Never mind the fact that Noct was probably the only reason he’d lived to see it. Never mind that Noct was probably dealing with all of this pain only because of him.

And though it was on a much smaller scale, his effort to cheer Noct up had involved dragging him through the Citadel and making him feel guilty.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Ignis said curtly.

For a moment, Ignis thought Noct was about to cry. But he closed his eyes and said, “The fish are nice.”

“Mm.”

They sat in silence and watched them swim.

* * *

Dear Noct,

I’ve always been called Lunafreya, but I confess, I rather like the idea of going by Luna. Maybe you can try it out for me?

I’m sorry it’s been so hard. I pray a little sunshine will fall into your days and give hope of better things to come. I know you will rise to your calling, no matter how difficult the days.

— Luna

* * *

The physiotherapist wrapped Noctis’s leg in black neoprene and velcro, starting below his knee and going halfway up his thigh. Sections had been backed in shiny beige plastic.

“The brace should help take some of the strain off your leg,” she said. “Stand for me?”

Noct slid off the table, good leg first, and then placed his right foot down to distribute the weight more evenly.

“How’s it feel?” she asked, kneeling to check the fit and adjust the straps.

“Uhm,” he said, shifting over a bit more onto the right leg and feeling the familiar burn. “About the same.”

“Give it a try for a few days and let me know what you think, Your Highness,” she said, first tugging the leg of his baggy sweatpants over the brace and then standing. “You should be able to take it off by yourself tonight; I’ll come by tomorrow morning and help show you how to put it on.”

He thanked her, grabbed his cane, and headed out the door. Ignis was there waiting.

“How’d it go?” Ignis asked.

“Fine. The physiotherapist wants me to try a knee brace.” Noct reached down and knocked on a section of hard plastic that covered his upper thigh, then made a face.

“Well, so long as it helps,” Ignis said.

They walked in silence for a while, padding down the carpeted corridor.

“How’s your uncle doing?” Noct asked when the got into the empty elevator and Ignis swiped his key-card for access to the residential floors.

“Hm? Oh, he’s been pretty busy. I guess things have been . . . stressful.”

“And what about you?” Noctis asked, fiddling with the handle of the cane. “Are you stressed?”

“For better or worse, they’re not letting me get much involved in anything.”

“At least you know what’s going on,” Noct said. “Uhm, what is going on?”

Ignis grinned, even though it really wasn’t funny. The elevator reached the right floor, and he held a hand across the door while Noct limped out.

“The Empire has been sending more troops into Lucis. So far, they have left the locals mostly alone, but the heightened presence is troubling. Additionally, it seems to have come along with a resurgence in daemonic activity. And . . . that’s about it,” he ended, thinking better of the last item at the last moment.

Noct was looking at him, and Ignis’s poker face crumbled under the scrutiny; he flushed red. “I wish someone would just tell me,” Noct mumbled. “It’d be better than guessing.”

“What are you guessing?” Ignis asked, stalling, as they came up short outside the residential wing; any further and there would be guards listening.

Noct just rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall to wait.

“It’s nothing formalized, but there have been lots of . . . Questions, and gossip about your health and fitness to rule.”

Noctis felt the blackness teasing at him, but he ignored it for the time being. “And if I can . . . continue the line.”

“Ah. Yes,” Ignis said. “His Majesty addressed the questions in Council and told them there was no cause for such concern, but as you’ve been out of the public eye for some time, there are those who believe you are in worse condition than the Crown is attempting to portray.”

Noct blanched and buried his face in his free hand. “Just kill me now.” The only thing worse than random people speculating about . . . that . . . was thinking about his dad making _announcements_ about it.

Ignis’s stomach churned. “Perhaps we can do something to ease the scrutiny.”

Noct’s chin jerked up. “Such as?”

“I don’t know. But let me think about it.”

“Thanks, Iggy.”

Ignis nodded and swiped his keycard to open the door to the residential wing, and they walked down the hall to Noct’s room. He’d moved into a smaller suite that was more manageable for him to navigate, with a lower bed and fewer steps to the bathroom.

“Huh,” said Noct as they arrived at his door.

Ignis waited for an explanation.

“Usually, I feel worse after walking that far,” Noct said. “Maybe . . . Maybe the brace is helping, a little.”

“I hope so, Your Highness.” Ignis nodded and took his leave, leaving Noct to himself for the night.

As he walked back through the hallway, nodding to the guard on duty, he considered. That may have been the longest conversation they’d had since the attack; Noct had either been unconscious, in extreme pain, or struggling to stay afloat.

A little sprout of hope unfolded within him, and he resolved to find a solution to the rumors running around the Citadel.

If Noct wanted his help, he would find a way.


	9. The Education of a Prince

“Your Majesty, if I could just grab you for a moment—”

Regis did not break his stride. “It will have to wait,” he said, leaving the head of the public works department lingering in the corridor behind him.

He was not going to be late for his appointment with Noctis. He saw his son little enough as it was.

When he reached the small study, he nodded to Beatrice Lo, the Crownsguard who had snapped to attention when he’d approached the door. Her presence meant Noctis was already inside.

Indeed, his son was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. It probably would have irked him before, but now, Regis couldn’t help but grin at the sight. It was just so . . . quintessentially _teenager_. So normal.

“Hey, Dad,” Noct said, grabbing the arm of the couch and pulling himself up to a rough approximation of sitting. “What did you want?”

“I can’t just want to see my favorite child?” Regis teased, though it was obvious he’d scheduled this time for a purpose.

“If you’ve got other kids you’re hiding, now would be a great time to bring ‘em out.”

Wrong joke. “Sorry, just you.” 

“So what’s up?”

“After the attack,” Regis began, settling down on the couch next to his son and feeling relief in his own aching joints, “you were using healing magic. I was able to close that connection to the Crystal. However, I wonder if that’s why your body isn’t responding to healing as it should.”

Noctis shuddered, but Regis did not press him on the memory.

“I want you to try re-opening the connection,” he continued.

“I told you that I don’t think it will work,” Noctis said, but his tone was carefully polite, and the casual demeanor had vanished. It wasn’t a statement — it was an ask, whether his father really wanted him to try this, despite its potential to backfire.

“Yes. I’m here if you need me.”

Noctis closed his eyes, and Regis knew what he was doing: reaching inside for the golden line of light that was his connection to the Crystal, following it back to where it split into many paths, tracing the one that led to healing, and knocking on the door.

Then he gasped and doubled over.

Regis grabbed his shoulder. “Noctis!”

But Noctis was straightening already, shaking his head. “No. It’s not working. It’s . . . twisted. Hurt.”

“All of it?”

“I don’t think so. But I’m not positive, since that was the only type of magic I had practiced with.” Noctis paused, then added, in a strained voice, “Why don’t you show me how to use the armiger?”

Regis was shaking his head already. They’d had this conversation before. “You aren’t ready or in any condition . . .”

“It’d be really nice to be able to materialize a cane out of nowhere, you know,” Noctis pressed. “And then we’d know more.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Please actually do,” Noctis shot back.

Regis did not dignify that with a response. “We also need to discuss your schooling for next year.”

“I want to go to high school,” Noctis replied automatically.

Fear gripped Regis’s heart then, swiftly and suddenly like a plunge into icy water. But he merely said, “Alright. There are plans in place, but we will have to modify them, so please be prepared to meet with the appropriate administrators.”

“Thanks, Dad."

* * *

Ignis sat at the dining room in the Scientia home with print-outs, notebooks, and folders spread before him. Some of the papers were information from Noctis’s high school; others were memos and reports from various governmental office regarding the logistics of having His Highness in attendance.

He methodically reviewed the information with a highlighter in hand, three-hole-punching the documents he’d need to reference and adding them to a single binder. Better to have everything organized and in one place.

His uncle sat at the other end of the table, nursing a can of Ebony over his newspaper, and Ignis could hear the housekeeper washing dishes in the kitchen. It was a comfortable quiet.

“Uncle,” Ignis said, flipping over a page of uniform requirements and highlighting a line about shoelaces, “if you had to choose the single factor most responsible for rumors within the Citadel about Prince Noctis’s health, what would you say?”

“Ignis, I’m not sure handling such things falls within your scope of responsibilities.” Ever since the attack and the additional scrutiny on Noctis, the man had been protective of his nephew, insisting he stay focused on his own studies.

“I know. Just . . . humor me, please,” Ignis said.

His uncle made a hum of consideration. “The PR people — and the press secretary in particular — have been pushing for His Highness to make additional public appearances. His Majesty has been very, shall we say, protective of the prince. Understandably,” he added, flipping the page in his newspaper, then settling it down on the table to make eye contact with Ignis. “But it appears to some as if the Prince is being kept hidden.”

“I see,” said Ignis. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Ignis. I know your duty is to the Prince, but you cannot fix all of his problems.”

“Yes, Uncle.” _I can fix precious few these days,_ Ignis added bitterly to himself. What good had he been to Noct in the past months?

But the start of a plan was coming together in his mind, and Ignis Scientia always felt better with a plan.

* * *

As soon as Noct’s dad had asked about high school, he had known. He didn’t even _like_ going to school; it was lonely, despite all the other students, and full of awkwardness. But it was the only part of his life away from the Citadel. It was the most normal thing he did. He needed to do it, no matter how hard it was.

Or how many headaches it gave other people.

For instance, the one he had seen materializing on his father’s own face as soon as the words had left his mouth. He had almost seen the logistics involved spinning like gears in Regis’s mind. The worry. The _fear_.

Noctis hated it. It was just school, even if he had to jump through a circus’s worth of hoops to get there.

First up: the tailor, who measured and fitted and poked and prodded to be sure his uniform would fit. 

Everything was standard-issue except the tie. When the tailor asked what colours he preferred, Noctis said blue, which didn’t seem _specific_ enough for the guy, who muttered something about _cornflower_ , but oh well.

Anyway, he made sure the tailor accounted for his knee brace as well. It had become a very important presence in his life in the past month, making little things like _living_ so much more pleasant.

Next came the security detail. Much like his grade school, the high school had been chosen for its rigorous security — it was attended by the children of prominent politicians and Insomnia’s wealthy citizens, with a few kids from middle-class neighborhoods thrown in for good measure. All of that would kick into overdrive with Noctis there, but there would be no Crownsguard lurking in the bushes, to his relief.

However, he had to listen to five different members of five different branches of government and military and education lecture him on the importance of keeping out of trouble and making sure his team knew where he was at all times and blah, blah, blah, _yes, I understand and take it very seriously._

After that, PR. He sat next to his father at a private conference room’s faded oak table as Mr. Eddy, the Crown’s press secretary, lectured Noctis on all the things he should not do, should not say, and how it could backfire gloriously into a public relations disaster for him and his father and the Crown. There was a slide-show and everything.

Amusingly, he also provided a file folder with examples of times when it had gone wrong, though his father had snatched one clipping away and incinerated it in fire with a twist of his wrist before Noctis could read more than **_CROWN PRINCE REGIS CAUGHT UNDER BLEACHERS WITH CHILDHOOD SWEETHEART._**

“Dad,” he said with a grin that was half embarrassment, half awe.

“It will never be spoken of again,” Regis said firmly.

“Next, we must discuss mobility aids,” Mr. Eddy said, clicking to the next slide in his presentation, which had photos of Noctis in a wheelchair or using a cane on the left, transitioning to pictures of him standing or walking without aid on the right, with a timeline running beneath.

“As you can see,” he explained, “we’ve been able to increase press images of Noctis walking, unaided, by 25% over the past few months. While we theoretically should not have to worry about images of Noctis at school leaking to the press, it would be helpful if the inevitable few painted as positive a picture of the Prince’s recovery as possible. Additionally, we want anecdotal evidence provided by the Prince’s peers to match our messaging.”

Regis was staring at Noctis as if he expected him to say something. Noctis swallowed hard.

“Yeah, but I need it sometimes.” _Almost always._

“Of course, Your Highness,” Mr. Eddy said smoothly. “I recommend that on days you require a mobility aid, you use a standard-issue hospital crutch.” He clicked to the next slide, which showed a stock photo of a crutch. “Unlike canes, crutches are generally associated with athletic injury, rather than chronic disability. The generic nature also implies it is temporary, whereas anything more customized would be viewed as a permanent fixture.”

Noctis didn’t say anything, and the man continued, but he wasn’t really paying attention any longer. At the end of the meeting, his father thanked Mr. Eddy in a way that indicated dismissal. Then, he swiveled his conference chair towards Noctis.

“What did you think of that, Noctis?”

“Fine.” He hesitated. “But I’m using a cane. I won’t make it without one, and I’m not going to pretend I broke my foot playing _soccer_.”

Regis smiled. He held his hand to the side, and a sleek black cane materialized there. The handle was polished black wood, and it curved elegantly towards the base, which had been intricately carved with a golden inlay to create a skull pattern reminiscent of the royal insignia.

He handed it to Noctis, who ran his fingers over the smooth woodgrain warmth of the handle. It was clearly customized, expensive, and permanent.

In short, it was 100% exactly the sort of thing that they’d just been told he should avoid.

His father was already standing to go. “Please bear in mind that Mr. Eddy’s position is not primarily an advisory one,” he said smoothly. “He is also _excellent_ at damage control.”

Noctis glanced at the whisper of ash on the table that had once been an article about his father’s (his _parents',_ eww) youthful exploits, and he grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve to those of you celebrating! And thanks to everyone who has commented and kudos-ed, you are my secret Santas :)


	10. Already, Somehow

_Hi Luna,_

_That really sucks about Ravus and your mom arguing. Do they do that a lot? I hope they can work things out soon. But it’s really cool that you’ve started learning how to heal. Is it hard? What can you do so far?_

_I’d better go to bed now. School starts tomorrow. Maybe ask the Astrals to help me out with that?_

_— Noct_

  
Noct affixed a sticker of a moogle waving pom-poms beneath his signature as Umbra nosed his lap impatiently from beneath the desk.

“Sorry, boy,” Noct said, scratching behind Umbra’s ears; the dog whined and leaned further into Noct’s lap. “Made you wait, didn’t I?”

He tucked the journal beneath the strap on Umbra’s back and gave him a final, fond pat. Umbra trotted out of his room, and Noct’s smile faded in the dog’s wake. He should have asked for those prayers sooner.

Ignis was sitting on Noct’s bed, reading; he cleared his throat when Umbra had gone. “Everything set for tomorrow?”

Noctis snorted. “Well, my slacks are pressed, my shirt is starched, my uniform is hung up, and my briefcase has been carefully packed according to a color-coded checklist . . . Thanks for all that, by the way.”

Ignis closed his book and sat up on the bed. “Are you nervous?”

“Nah,” Noct lied. He pushed the rolling chair out from the desk and swiveled to face Ignis. “Are you coming? To drop me off, I mean.”

“Yes,” Ignis said. “Every morning and afternoon. I can’t drive you myself, so for now, there will be a driver from the Crownsguard.” Ignis himself had a mix of private tutors, independent study, and small classes with other brilliant types; herding Noctis around was literally part of his own education.

“Better for you, anyway. You can read in the backseat.”

“Indeed,” agreed Ignis, and a spark of a smile flickered on his face. “Are you . . . Is there anything else you need? For tomorrow, I mean.”

Noct could hear the concern lacing his tone, and it wasn’t doing anything for his own nerves. Nor was the endless preparation. Or the way his dad kept asking him if he was _sure about this._

“I’ll be fine, Iggy. It’s just school.”

“It’s the longest you’ll have been away since October.”

“About time,” said Noct, stretching into a lazy yawn. _That_ was true. He was sick of being trapped in the Citadel. “Man, I could fall asleep right now.”

“You’d best shower first, if you want any hope of making friends.”

“That would be a first,” grumbled Noct, but he stood up and grabbed his cane to head into the bathroom.

* * *

“Good luck,” Ignis said grimly from the back seat as Noct turned to close the car door behind him. "I'll have my phone with me if you require anything."

“I _will_ have a great day, thanks,” Noct said, rolling his eyes with a casual coolness he absolutely did not feel.

Ignis nodded and pulled the door shut from inside. The driver pulled away from the curb, and for the first time in nearly a year, Noct was on his own.

He kept the bored expression pasted on as he walked through the school’s courtyard, cane in his left hand. He loosened his tie (now that Ignis was out of sight) before shoving his right hand in his pocket.

Walking to his first class reminded him of everything he hated most about school.

Eventually, the grade school kids had kind of gotten used to having their own resident prince, but the high school was bigger. He could hear the whispers following him through the hallway, and now he had his injury to fuel the giggles on top of the whole royalty situation. He stopped having to fake the over-it-already face before he even sat down in his first class.

But by the time he was walking to the third class of the day, he was struggling to keep up the look. It felt like someone — maybe Gladio — was standing on his lower back. The chairs here sucked. He should have practiced with the briefcase, too; it was throwing him off.

“Hey, Prince Noctis!” someone called from behind. He stopped moving but didn’t bother turning his head. If whoever it was really wanted words, they’d come talk to his face.

The guy jogged up to stand in front of him, slapping him on the shoulder as he went. Blonde hair, sharp features — Prompto Argentum, that was it. They’d been in school together for ages, but they’d never talked. Noct had lent the guy a pencil once.

“I’m Prompto Argentum. Nice to meet you,” he said, as if they’d never met.

Noctis broke into a lopsided grin. “Don’t I know you?”

The guy laughed a little sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

Noct clapped a hand on his shoulder and started walking, though with more of a lurch to the side than he would have ideally managed. “Noct’s fine.”

Prompto fell into step. “High school, huh?”

“Weird, right?”

“More like finally. I’ve got history next, then lunch. You?”

“Algebra, then I’ve got lunch, too,” Noct said.

For a moment, doubt flooded him; a _what-if_ warning to not let anyone close, to not put himself out there, even an inch. He remembered the nightmare forms whispering _you will always be lonely_. He remembered putting a sword through the feeling that he was destined to be alone.

 _Ah, fuck it._ “See you in the cafeteria?” he ventured.

Prompto beamed and Noct felt like he’d done something right for the first time in a long time. “Good luck with Ms. Veritas, I hear she’s terrible,” Prompto said, and then he was off and running to class, leaving Noct a little shell-shocked but mostly pleased in his wake.

* * *

  
_You did it!_ Prompto cheered to himself as he slid into history class right before the bell rang. He’d had to hustle to get there from clear across the building, where he’d been waiting to ambush Prince Noctis. Was that sad? Sure. But it had worked.

Now he just had to . . . be friends? With a prince? Indefinitely? And not mess it up?

After that, the track tryout after school suddenly seemed a lot more doable.

* * *

At lunch, Noctis had walked into the cafeteria with a knot of worry forming in his stomach, but Prompto had caught him before he had to find a spot on his own. He'd been worried it would be weird, but they talked, and it was . . . easy. Fun. Neither of them asked awkward questions. They just acted like they were already friends.

And somehow, it seemed, they already were.

* * *

Halfway through his casual cafeteria lunch with the Crown Prince of Lucis, someone loomed over their table.

“Hello, Prince Noctis,” the guy said, ignoring Prompto entirely. He was tall and bulky, with short-cropped blonde hair, and set off every flight-or-flight (fight wasn’t on his radar) instinct Prompto had. “Rex Antilla. If you’re looking for a place to sit, I can introduce you to some . . . quality people.”

His eyes slid to Prompto, as if to suggest he was not _quality people_. Then, he held out a meaty hand for Noctis to shake.

Prompto went very still and wished to vanish into the tacky cafeteria linoleum. 

Noct looked the guy up and down, then said, “Nah.” He took a bite of his sandwich and ignored the outstretched hand.

The guy turned red, then purple. “Your loss,” he growled, but walked away when Noct merely kept eating his sandwich with a bored expression.

“Um,” said Prompto.

“Sorry,” muttered Noct. “They never leave me alone.” He looked embarrassed for some reason Prompto couldn’t fathom.

“Oh,” said Prompto. “Who?”

Noct jerked his thumb towards the guy and said around his bite of sandwich, “Nephew of the minister of finance.”

“Oh,” said Prompto again, vaguely wondering why the earth hadn’t opened to swallow him. Noctis belonged with kids like _that_ , duh. Who was he even kidding. “If you wanna go—”

“ _What?_ Hell no.” Noct was looking at him like he had a bar code across his forehead. 

“Oh.”

Noct hadn’t seemed to notice that Prompto had been reduced to a single syllable. He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and slid it to Prompto. “Show me that game you were talking about, I wanna try it.”

“Oh — I mean, sure,” Prompto said, taking the phone and finding the game. “If you give me your number I can text you my username to add me.”

He unlocked his own phone and slid it across to Noctis, who added his number without commenting on the cracked screen.

“Uh, just so you know,” Noct said. “My texts aren’t really private. So don’t send me anything you don’t want some security guy finding out.”

“Or security girl — I mean, security woman? But yeah,” Prompto said, typing: **hi royal security humans, my kings knight username is LOKTON, u should def all add me.**

It wasn’t until he was heading home from track tryouts, which he had smashed, that he got a reply: **we know where u sleep @ nite.**

* * *

As he walked through the peace of the mostly-empty hallway to go use the restroom mid-class, Prompto reflected that he had never really minded school.

Except for a couple rough spots with bullies, he’d mostly made it through with little notice, so it had just been nice to be around people. The less his parents were home, the more he looked forward to being in the crowd. He wasn’t a brilliant student (okay, except in science, he was somehow really good at science) but he did okay in class.

And then, most weekends, he went home to an empty house. 

He had some kids he ate lunch with and some class project friends, but no one he hung out with outside of school. Hanging out required too much parent communication; he’d found that out the hard way at the only sleepover he’d ever attended, when he’d gotten sick and there had been no one to come pick him up. That had caused all kinds of awkwardness. Most parents weren’t keen on letting their kids come over to hang out unsupervised, either.

So he’d never really been a TGIF kind of guy. And now, one week into his high school career, with a real friend, and track practice after school every day . . .

Well. The weekend would at least be good for getting caught up on homework.

There wasn’t practice on Fridays, so the day would end even earlier than usual, but he wasn’t gonna let it spoil his mood. He hung up the hall pass on a hook and went about the usual bathroom business.; he’d washed his hands and was adjusting his hair in the mirror when someone in one of the stalls threw up. Loudly.

Prompto dried his hands on his slacks and wondered if he should say something, and then the _sound effects_ started up again, and he felt really badly for the poor whoever-it-was in the stall.

“Heyyy, throwing-up-kid, want me to get the nurse?” he ventured.

For a moment, there was only the whir of the bathroom fan. Then: “ _Prompto?!_ ”

“Wha— Noct? Dude, are you okay?”

A flush, a groan, and the door drifted open to reveal Noct slumped against the stall, pale with sweat beading on his forehead. He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can you help me up? I need to get back to class,” he said, voice sounding raw.

“Uhm, no, you need to go home, dude.”

Noct shook his head. “Can’t. Gotta stay.”

Prompto knelt next to him, and this was a testament to either the compassion in his heart or the strength of their burgeoning friendship, because even at this fancy-pants school the boys’ bathroom floor was . . . questionable.

“If you’ve got a stomach bug, you really can’t hang out at school, bro.”

“S’not,” Noct mumbled, looking exceedingly miserable. Honestly, it freaked Prompto out, especially since his experience with Noct’s facial expressions was limited to the usual cool-and-bored, the occasional scowling, and, within the past week, also mildly amused, and — on a few memorable occasions — very amused. “Just pain stuff. Gotta get back.”

“Dude, if you’re throwing up from pain, you definitely need to go home.” He started to stand, to make the point that they were not gonna haggle this point on the bathroom floor, but Noct grabbed his wrist.

That stopped Prompto in his tracks, even if it was just because Noct had grabbed his wristband, but Noct was shaking his head and looking him in the eyes like a sad, sick puppy. “If they think it’s a problem, they won’t let me come back. Please. I just . . .” For a moment, he looked like he was gonna be sick again, and thankfully he let go of Prompto’s wrist so Prompto could stand up and out of the splash zone.

But Noct just swallowed and kept going. “I just have to make it through the last period.”

Prompto exhaled. “Okay. If you’re really sure.”

Noct nodded and held out a hand. “Help me up?”

Prompto yanked him up to his good foot, and Noct put the other down with a hiss of pain.

“Are you gonna be able to walk?”

“Yeah, just gimme a minute.”

“You should wash your face,” said Prompto, drifting to wait by the door. “And bring a paper towel in case you start sweating again.”

“You sound like an expert.”

“I have, uh, experience not getting sent home sick.” His heart started beating faster. _Because I’m a weirdo who doesn’t have anyone to pick him up,_ he didn’t say.

Noct just nodded, though, and went to follow his directions.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Prompto asked when Noct finished toweling off his face. He held the door open.

“Nah, I got it.” And honest-to-gods, as soon as he stepped through the door, he really looked like he did. His face was blank, he was standing up straight, and he’d stopped shaking. If Prompto hadn’t just heard him barfing up his guts, he wouldn’t have even noticed the white knuckles on the cane with how casually he held it, like a prop he barely needed.

Noct was _next-level_ at faking it. As a pro himself, Prompto was impressed.

“Thanks for scraping me off the floor, Prompto. Glad it was you.”

“Yeah, let’s not do this again sometime,” Prompto said, heading the other way.

* * *

“And Prompto said that if you harvest your Zell tree every day, you can actually—” 

“If I have to hear about _Prompto_ every day for the rest of my life, it would be nice to actually meet him,” Ignis remarked.

Noctis pulled up short and fixed Ignis with a hard stare. “Wait. You . . . ran a background check, didn’t you?” When Ignis didn’t say anything, he correctly interpreted the silence as an affirmative. “Ignis, it’s been _four weeks—_ ”

“That’s long enough. And he’s clean as a whistle, no cause for concern.”

“Igg-yyyy,” Noct whined, but continued walking forwards toward the bubble tea shop where they were stopping at before heading back to the Citadel. The excursion was a testament to how much Noct’s stamina had improved over the past month; he’d barely made it to the end of the day his first week. In fact, there had been one day Ignis was pretty sure he should _not_ have waited until the end of the day.

Gradually, though, things had improved. It had been Noct’s idea to make a detour, too.

“Can’t I have one normal friend?”

“Certainly, as long as he passes muster,” Ignis said smoothly.

“Well, when you do meet him, don’t terrify him,” Noctis said, holding the door open for Ignis with his free hand. “He’s a normal person. I don’t think he’s even one of the rich-rich kids.”

“I have an entire file on him you could read, if you want.”

“Ugh, no, that’s exactly what I don’t want.”

Despite his teasing, Ignis was exceedingly pleased. Noctis had never made friends at school. This never seemed to bother anyone else (it would have been exceedingly complicated), but it had never sat well with him.

Ignis himself didn’t socialize much outside of school, though it wasn’t exactly a fair comparison, as most of his studies were independent with the aid of a tutor, but he’d had some shared classes. And in those classes, he had friends. Classmates he talked to and liked.

Somehow, Noctis had never seemed to. Teachers described him as quiet, sometimes even withdrawn. It just didn’t match up with the lively kid he was at home.

 _Had been_ at home, in any case. The familiar guilt washed over him as they settled into a booth.

“Iggy, what’s wrong?” Noct gently kicked his ankle under the table. “You keep making that tragic face.”

The guilt deepened. “Nothing at all. You didn’t answer me. When do I get to meet Prompto?”

“When you learn to stop looking so scary. I wish you would tell me what’s been eating you.”

“One would almost think,” Ignis teased, trying to change the subject “that your new friend might be, shall we say, _fictional_.”

Noctis scowled. “Prompto is not my imaginary friend!”

Ignis laughed as Noctis grumbled, and it felt good.

* * *

Three months into the school year, Noctis had started having Ignis — well, Ignis and the driver — pick him up a couple hours after school ended on Fridays, which were the only days Prompto didn’t have track practice after school.

They’d hit the arcade, grab a snack, or bum around the convenience store, which was where they were currently hanging out. Noct had squashed a baseball cap onto his head in a halfhearted bid for anonymity. Noctis browsed the energy drink selection while Prompto checked out the photography magazines.

“Dude, you should have told me you were a robot,” Prompto said, thwacking his shoulder with a magazine. It was a tabloid; bold letters across the front screamed ** _WILL INSOMNIA'S ANDROID PRINCE LEAD A ROBOT REVOLUTION?!_ **It had a photo of Noctis with a dead-eyed stare (probably not hard to come by, honestly) and a red light photoshopped into one of his eyes.

Noctis groaned. “I hate you.”

Prompto ignored him and flipped past a feature on how Cor the Immortal was actually a vampire to find the spread.

“Ooh, X-ray vision, that explains how you’re passing history — you can see Leila’s answer sheet. Dang, how much do you think they would pay me for photos of you in your moogle pajamas?”

Noctis just rolled his eyes and took it out of his hands. “Oh look, I’ve even got a bar code.”

Prompto _squeaked_ and grabbed the magazine back. “What?!”

Noctis had already hooked his cane beneath his arm and brought out his phone, shaking it to bring up the scanner; he aimed the camera at the grainy close-up of the back of the person’s (ostensibly his) neck, which had been poorly photoshopped with a bar code. His phone chirped, and he snorted. “Well, that’s just insulting.”

He handed his phone to Prompto, who burst into manic laughter; he was bright red.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that funny,” said Noct, grabbing his phone back.

The woman who owned the shop marched over with her hands on her hips and a glare. “No reading the magazines if you’re not gonna buy anything.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m _definitely_ buying it,” Prompto said, breathless with laughter, and he followed the woman back up to the register to do just that.

“Don’t believe that trash,” the woman told Prompto, wagging a finger at him as she rang him up. She clearly didn’t think much of her teenage customers — though she was the one selling the magazine and half a dozen others like it. “Young Prince Noctis is a good boy who never hurt anyone, poor thing.”

“Uh, yeah, got it, thanks.”

Noctis was scowling in earnest by the door and kept at it as they spilled out of the cramped shop and into the sunshine outside. “No wonder no one recognizes me. They’re expecting a three-legged puppy.”

“Cheer up, buddy. It’s not every day I find out my best friend is secretly a robot who is also secretly a _twelve-pack of ramen_.”

“Good to know you’d stand by me even if I were actually a robot.”

“Hey, robots would make good friends!”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Noctis teased, and Prompto went weirdly red again.

“Why can these people just like, lie about you anyway?” Prompto asked as he flipped through the magazine. “Also, it turns out the Insomnia bus system is run by a cabal of mole-men. I believe that for sure.”

“My dad’s into the whole free press thing,” Noct said. “Apparently, his grandpa wrote that law. Besides, it’s like when the teachers come out and tell us we should definitely not ever ask Clive Bradford anything about his parents . . . it just kicks everything into overdrive if you try to kill it.”

“It’s super creepy they can do that,” Prompto said.

Suddenly, Noct flushed. “You should be okay, though. They can get away with stuff about me because I’m a public figure. Plus you’re a minor, so they’ll probably leave you alone.” He kicked an empty coffee cup down the street. “Probably. But if you notice anything weird, tell me.”

“You just don’t want me to be more famous than you, Noct,” Prompto said, flexing. “C’mon, Noct give the people what they want. Think of the _covers_ these guns could sell.”

Noct snickered. “Dork.”

A dog barked and a blur of white caught Noct's eye. Pryna was bounding up towards them, flying down the street . . . and jumped up on _Prompto_ , licking his face.

“Woah, girl!” Prompto said, burying his hands into the absolute butter fluff of her fur. “Never thought I’d see you again!”

“Wait, how do you know Pryna?!" Noctis demanded, with maybe just a tiny hint of jealousy.

Prompto stuck his tongue out. “Hey, you’re not the only one allowed to have royal dog friends.”

“No, but seriously . . . oh, hi Pryna, yes, I am here, too, and thank you,” Noct cut off as Pryna finally deigned to share the love. He slipped the notebook out from under her strap.

Noctis was looking at Prompto expectantly, and his friend flushed sunburn-red. “Ah, it was back last fall, I found her hurt in the woods. I took her home and cleaned her up.”

Noct just kept staring.

“And Lady Lunafreya wrote me a thank you note. The end!”

“Huh,” said Noct. “Small world. Does she know we’re friends?”

“Uh, no, we didn’t exactly strike up a correspondence.”

“I’ll have to tell her then,” Noct said. “Wait, take a picture!”

So Prompto took a Polaroid of them, and Noct stuck it to the page and scribbled “I made a friend!” next to it.

“I don’t think she knows what I look like, dude,” Prompto said.

So Noct added another arrow and wrote “Prompto Argentum, friend and dog-rescuer.” Then, he shifted so Prompto couldn't read over his shoulder, and at the bottom he scrawled: “My dad finally started teaching me the armiger, which is how he makes weapons appear out of thin air. I can’t do much yet, but if you need a paper clip, I’m your guy. -- Noct”

 _I’m your guy?_ Ugh. No time to fix it, either. He shut the notebook as Prompto tried to read over his shoulder and slipped it back under Pryna’s strap. “You wanna hang out with me and Prompto?” he asked, petting her, but Pryna just nudged her freezing cold dog nose into his ear and bounded away.

“So . . . that dog runs messages back and forth from Tenebrae?" Prompto asked. "I’m no geography whiz but isn’t there, like, an ocean involved?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s magic.”

“Ahhh, magic. Convenient.”

“Isn’t it?” He held his hand to the side, a blue crystalline light flashing into his hand, reflecting in Prompto’s wide eyes.

He handed Prompto a paper clip, and the traitor burst out laughing hysterically. “Dude, I really thought that was going to be cool for a second.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” Noctis sniffed.

“True, I can’t even do a staple.”

Noctis shoved his friend lightly with one shoulder and headed to the car that had just pulled up to the curb. “Wanna ride?”

“Nah, I’ll take my chances with the mole-men,” Prompto said, running to catch the bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had wayyyyy too much fun with this one. Did you, too? ;-)
> 
> (Also, yes, "Nah" is definitely Noct's version of Harry's "I think I can tell who the wrong sort for myself, thanks.")
> 
> See y'all on Thursday for GLADIO TIME.


	11. The Future You Imagine

“Again,” barked Gladio.

"I need to stop," Noctis gasped out, leaning heavily on the practice sword. His knee felt like it was going to crumple beneath him, sending tremors up and down the length of his thigh and calf.

They were just running through the basics he’d learned when he was approximately five years old, but he hadn’t held a weapon in over a year, and it was becoming clear that his five-year-old self could definitely have kicked his 15-year-old self's ass.

It didn't help that winter had completely decimated the strength and flexibility he’d been building in his knee and back. Everything was stiff and painful again. They were only a few days into the winter holiday from school, and Noct already felt the weight of the Citadel closing back in over him, his world growing smaller, to only the distances he could manage without using too much energy.

" _Again_ , Noct. A little pain never hurt anybody."

“That is literally the definition of pain,” Noct shot back.

“If you have breath to bitch, you have breath to keep going.”

Breathing was very much not the main problem, but the fury shaking through his sweaty palms suddenly made swinging something heavy at Gladio's face very, very appealing after all.

He made to swing and stepped out, but his leg gave out beneath him, and he hit the ground hard. Chin-first. The wooden training sword clattered on the floor.

Noct pushed his face upper body away from the ground with one elbow, shaking, his face red with anger and shame.

"Fine, have it your way," Gladio spat above him, and it sounded like he was already halfway out of the room. "I can't keep you alive if you're not even going to try." The door slammed shut.

Noct collapsed back down onto the floor, trying to breathe, pressing his forehead into the cold cork surface to keep himself from passing out.

After that, everything else was kind of all a blur, because it was the pain that was in focus; Prompto would have said something about a foreground. No use moving, anyway. He was still face-down on the ground when Ignis came and found him there.

Ignis used some colorful language he’d never heard before — must have nicked that from the Crownguard, he thought vaguely — and knelt to slide his shoulder beneath Noctis's armpit. They hobbled to the door that way, Noct rigid with tension. He couldn’t put any weight on his bad leg, so he was hopping and using Ignis as a crutch, every movement sending agony spiraling up him, and his grip on sanity felt like it was slipping.

They passed Gladio standing by the door on the way out, and Ignis said something in a kind of strangled voice he’d never heard before, but Noct was beyond it all.

* * *

Gladio leaned against the wall outside the private training room, hands heavy with the need to punch something, wondering how the _hell_ he was supposed to get through to the kid.

Didn’t he _know_? He didn’t have time to take his time. He needed to bite the bullet and work through the pain and get back up on his feet. With the way things were with the Empire, with the pressure the Council was putting on King Regis over Noct, the way the King's body was deteriorating, the mood in Insomnia . . . He was going to get eaten alive if he didn’t snap out of it.

“Gladio?” Ignis had come to escort Noct to dinner with his father; kid didn’t go anywhere without one of them, or a Crownsguard, these days. “Where’s Noct?”

“Sulking,” Gladio said, jerking his head towards the door.

Ignis frowned and went in.

A couple minutes later, the door slammed open, and Gladio had to jump out of the way.

Ignis had an arm underneath Noct’s armpit, and _shit_ , Noct looked terrible. It looked like he’d busted his chin. He was pale and sweaty, and he wasn’t even trying to put his bad leg down, just hopping absurdly with Ignis taking most of the weight.

Gladio surged forward, but Ignis cut him off with the arm that wasn’t supporting Noct. “Absolutely _inexcusable_ ,” Ignis snarled.

He watched them turn the corner, then leaned against the wall and slid to the floor.

* * *

"Gladio feels badly about what happened," Ignis told him as they set up the chess board in an empty study.

"Good," said Noct, trying not to snap. It wasn't _Ignis's_ fault.

"Yes," Ignis said darkly. For a moment, Noct thought he was going to leave it there. But after a long pause, he forged on. "But you know he did not mean to hurt you."

" _Two days_ in bed, Ignis. Two days of not being able to walk."

The dark look was still on Ignis's face as he finished lining up his row of pawns. "I cannot pretend I was pleased."

“So you want me to act like it’s all OK?” Noct demanded.

“No,” Ignis sighed, motioning for Noct to make the first move. “But . . . Give him the chance to make it up to you.”

“I might, if he tried.”

Ignis pushed the dark frames of his glasses up, and Noct had the feeling he knew something he wasn't sharing yet, but he changed the subject. “In other news, I’ve been working on some ideas with regards to the public relations situation.”

“Oh yeah?” Noct pushed a pawn forward.

“I spoke with the press secretary and asked for his thoughts on the matter. He had quite a few — I think your father has been shutting him down quite often lately.”

The corner of Noct’s mouth quirked up fondly. “You don’t say.”

“I can see why, as most of the suggestions involve increasing visibility of you appearing completely healed. However, when I explained that you were likely to use a cane for the foreseeable future, we were able to work out a more tenable strategy.”

Noct’s mouth went dry, and that was stupid, because of course he was going to be using a cane for the foreseeable future. He was _lucky_ to be using a cane for the foreseeable future.

He just didn’t like to think much about the future.

He swallowed. “That’s great. What did you come up with?”

Ignis jumped a knight out over the row of pawns. “People need to get used to seeing you using your cane. Hiding it is short-sighted; we are a nation at war, and you will need to cultivate an image of strength. If the cane becomes part of your image, then over time, that becomes easier. It will also help relieve some of the short-term pressure.”

“Of course it’s gotta come down to brawn,” Noct muttered, nudging the same pawn towards Ignis’s knight.

“Unfortunately, brains and beauty are rather undervalued during times of war.” Ignis stepped a pawn out two squares.

“Lucky Gladio. So what do I have to do, and how much will I hate it?”

“Well, I picked a few press opportunities out that you can look at. Minor things that will help relieve some of the pressure in the immediate future. And then, I believe, we should set our sights on a large event; something that will get a lot of coverage all at once, rather than putting in appearances at medium-sized events that will be almost as stressful, but less prominently covered.”

Noct still felt a buzz of nervousness thinking about it, but it sure beat the prospect of trying to hide his injury. And he trusted Ignis. “Okay.”

Ignis gave him an encouraging smile and swiped one of his pawns.

* * *

Gladio had often said he was good at sulking, so Noct put his talents to good use and did not say anything at all when Gladio came to escort him to his physio appointment a week after their disastrous first training session. His future Shield hadn't deigned to say anything to him since abandoning him on the training room floor.

Neither broke the silence (and oh, Noctis could _revel_ in a stony silence) until they reached the hallway outside the office, and Gladio said, “I should come with you.”

Noctis was so bewildered that he didn’t respond instantly.

“I could learn some things,” Gladio ventured. “To help, if I need to.”

Oh. There came the righteous indignation, right on cue. Because how _dare_ he.

How dare he suggest that the logical next step on top of all his disdain for Noctis, all his insinuations that he was exaggerating, all his impatience to get the doctors to finally agree to let him _slowly ease back into basic training exercises_ and then push Noct after he’d said no was to —

“Hell no,” he said, cutting off his own thoughts. Ranting was a rookie mistake in these situations.

And that was the end of it, until the next week, when Gladio didn't ask. He just followed Noct on in.

Unfortunately, Noct didn't notice until he had already stripped down to shorts and sat down on the padded table . . . and there was Gladio, standing awkwardly by the table and staring at the scarred and pitted mess of his thigh.

"My eyes are up here," he hissed, and Gladio started guiltily.

Noct might have felt bad except he did not, at all, feel bad. He felt _furious_. "Get out."

His physiotherapist chose that moment to breeze in. "Hello, Your Highness — ah, and you must be Gladiolus Amicitia, it's nice to meet you."

"Why is he here?" Noct asked with as much politeness as he could muster. (It wasn't much.)

"He didn't tell you? He's starting an internship with me, and I thought it would be helpful for him to see how your sessions work firsthand."

Noctis could not kill with his stare. He knew this because Gladio survived the next four seconds.

"Now lay back," she instructed, guiding him down with gentle firmness as if nothing was wrong, instead of reality, where everything was wrong. "Let's get you stretched out."

She talked through everything she was doing, narrating for Gladio's sake as she bent and stretched his leg and knee in various ways, and then checked his thigh and kneaded it in places that brought tears that he absolutely could not shed to Noctis's eyes, and had him bend forward to check on his back.

Then, she ran him through a series of exercises meant to strengthen his knee, and there was no disguising his rough breathing, especially since every time he stopped she’d say, “Just keep breathing,” like it was easy or something.

Because this . . . this might have been the worst part of it all. No privacy. No dignity. No say in who saw or touched or hurt his scarred, scrawny, broken, and embarrassingly teenage body.

It had taken a while, but he’d come to associate physio with healing pain. Good pain, the restorative kind that unlocked ability. (Before his injury, he had never known how many different flavors of pain there were, like the shittiest ice cream parlor in the world.) He didn't feel afraid to be here any more; whatever injuries he had, they'd seen worse. Gladio being here ruined all of that.

At the end, she adjusted his knee brace and sent him off with a reminder to pull the strap behind his knee snug enough.

Noct stood to put his literal pants back on — and sure, he had been wearing shorts underneath, but it wasn't like he ran around in shorts these days — then brushed past Gladio on his way out the door as if the 17-year-old wasn’t a literal two feet taller than him.

"I hope that was entertaining for you," Noct spat as soon as he heard the office door close. He didn’t bother to look behind him; he knew he couldn't shake Gladio on his tail, not when the guy was on duty. But he didn’t have to spare him a second glance.

* * *

Gladio couldn’t blame Noct for the wariness in his eyes when he showed up for their second training session. In fact, he was kind of impressed the kid had come at all, even if it was with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

When Noct spotted the other person in the room, though, his body language instantly shifted into something much more respectable.

“Prince Noctis, this is Glaive Cyril Berytius,” Gladio said, motioning towards the white-haired man with kindly eyes who nonetheless cut an imposing figure in his Kingsglaive gear. He rivaled Gladio for height.

“An honor to meet you, Your Highness,” Berytius said with a bow and an amused crinkle around his eyes that told Gladio the sudden change in their Prince’s bearing hadn’t been lost on him.

“The honor’s mine,” Noct said with a precisely matched bow of his own, manners back to impeccable, though he was still frowning.

“Berytius often helps with rehabilitating wounded Glaives and getting them back to service,” Gladio explained.

“I had a degree in sports medicine, of all things, before the Great War,” Berytius said with an easy laugh. “That changed a few things, including this.” He gestured to his right leg, which was fitted with a prosthetic from the knee down.

Noct’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly. He wasn’t the first to have missed it; it had been designed to look like a Glaive’s boot, though the joint between leg and foot was formed of interlocking parts and connected too narrowly to the rest of the leg.

“So. I’ll leave you two to it,” Gladio said, retreating to the sidelines; after all, this was as much for his training as it was for Noct’s.

Noct shot him an appraising look, and it was probably the first time the kid hadn’t looked like he wanted Gladio to drop dead in a week, so that was progress. Then his eyes flicked back to Berytius, and the frown was still there.

“Sir, you . . . You were on duty, the day we were attacked, weren’t you?”

“Good eye, Prince Noctis. I don’t let this keep me on the sidelines. Shall we start with a few stretches so I can get a feel for your mobility?”

Noct nodded, mimicking the natural stance Berytius was demonstrating.

“By the way, Your Highness,” Berytius said, eyes twinkling, “thanks for the sandwich.”

Gladio didn’t know what the hell that meant, but it made Noct laugh. He felt like they were getting somewhere for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I'm trying to Tumblr but I don't know what I'm doing. [Come help me out ;)](https://every-lemon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And HAPPY NEW YEAR!! You made it, great job! Affirmations all around!


	12. Stepping Up

His father’s office was plenty big enough for the space Noct needed to summon the dagger and dismiss it while his father watched. He did it a dozen times, in rapid succession. He cleared his throat. “So . . . I think I’m ready for something bigger.”

His father looked like he didn’t want to say yes, but he did. He pulled a lightweight sword from the ether in a flicker of neon blue and handed it to Noct. “Go slow. Remember, set the intention before you make the connection.”

Noct knew that. He concentrated. The sword vanished here, appeared there; he could feel it. His father nodded.

“Good. Do you want to stop there, or try to take it out?”

He held his hand to the side. The sword vanished there, appeared here, in his hand. His father frowned.

“I think,” Noct said again, slowly, deliberately, edging into the dangerous territory of insolence, “I’m ready for something bigger.”

But the King was standing to leave. “I’m sorry, Noctis, I can’t stay any longer.”

“Dad,” Noct said, balling his sweaty hands into fists. “We just started. I can do this. I'm stronger, I've been training with Gladio and Berytius, I'm not feeling anywhere near stasis.”

“I know you can,” his father said, but it was a pat-on-the-head kind of an answer. “And we will resume our lessons next week, when I have the time.”

“When are you planning on teaching me how to warp?”

His father stopped with his handle on the door, but did not turn. “When you’re ready.” Then he swept past Lord Amicitia, who looked startled, like he hadn’t been expecting Regis out anytime soon, but followed in his wake.

The Shield glanced back, mouth set in a grim line, and made an apologetic face at Noct.

The door drifted shut of its own accord. When it clicked shut, Noct slammed his fist onto the desk, but the only good it did him was bruise his knuckles.

He was so tired of being babied. He knew his dad had been worried, and scared, and protective . . . But he needed to learn what he could do. He was 16. He should be warping by now. He should be figuring out how to heal again. He should be testing his elemental abilities.

But no. He'd been making _daggers_ disappear for months on end.

He stood up and decided to raid his dad’s not-extremely-secret stash of chocolate before he left, feeling kind of vindictive, but whatever. It was good chocolate, hidden behind a secret compartment in the wardrobe that popped out when you pressed it. He kind of wondered why the King of Lucis had to hide his chocolate and realized it probably had something to do with his own 5-year-old self.

He opened the door, pressed the false wall, and the hinge swung open.

A sword was leaning against the back of the cabinet.

It was beautiful, with a curving blade that caught the dim light and a unique design in the hilt, which looked as if gears and mechanical components were interlocking.

He _recognized_ it with a shock. It was from the dream he’d had after the attack. He remembered the sensation of warping behind it, flinging it as if it were nothing, flying through the air . . . 

There was an envelope attached to the hilt that read “For Noctis” that he didn’t dare open. He shut the compartment and the wardrobe quickly, then left the office, careful to keep a bored expression on his face.

But inside, he was elated.

Here was proof that his dad trusted him. That he really did plan on teaching him, letting him fight. Not yet . . . But soon, right? He had it all ready to go. He thought Noct could rise to the occasion, injury or no.

It glowed inside of him. He could be patient, now. Knowing it was coming. That the answer was yes, just not quite _yet_. And maybe there were a few things he could do to move that process along, too.

He stifled a smile and left the office.

* * *

“Well, Your Highness, this is quite unexpected,” Ingis said when he walked into the conference room. He was hiding a grin behind his hand and was clearly _highly amused._

Noct rolled his eyes. “Can’t I call a meeting?”

“Sure,” Gladio said, from the chair at the head of the conference table he was currently sitting in backwards. Noct was still not used to the sight of him in the full Crownsguard uniform he'd worn on duty since his swearing-in. “But you don’t.”

“Well, I am now,” Noct said. “But we only have 30 minutes in here before the sanitation committee kicks us out, so.”

Ingis choked on a snicker and sat down with his lips pressed together in a smirk.

“You think I can’t lead a meeting?” Noct whined. “I can totally lead a meeting. I’ve only sat through five billion.”

“By all means,” Ignis said, waving to Noct to proceed.

Noct inhaled. Right. Stepping up. Proving himself or whatever. “I want us to figure out how we’re going to do that strategy Ignis came up with to make me look less pathetic, when he talked with my dad’s PR guy. We need . . .” He drew in a shaky breath, hating himself. “A schedule. And, uh. Action items.”

Ignis’s grin widened. There were teeth. It was freaking Noct out.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a goal first?” Gladio said.

“Sure,” Noct said. “Goal: prove I’m not a fuck-up.”

“Prove to whom?” Ignis inquired. “Specificity.”

“The Council and everyone else hassling my dad. The general public.” He paused. “My dad.” Ignis looked alarmed at that, so he dialed up the sarcasm. “Gladio, apparently.”

“Sorry, that cat’s outta the bag,” Gladio said.

“Asshole.”

Ignis retrieved a folder from his briefcase and rifled through it until he found a stack of papers, which he handed to Noctis. “My apologies, I had intended to put these in a binder.”

Noctis materialized a paper clip and slid it over the corner of the stack. Then, he flipped through the list of events, all with dates, times, and descriptions.

“I would suggest,” Ignis said. “We pick two or three low-stakes public and semi-public appearances, to be capped by a larger event. After that, we can gauge our progress and recalibrate. As for the larger event, I believe the Founder’s Ball would be the perfect chance to show off Noct's recovery."

"What recovery?" snorted Gladio.

"Fake it till you make it," Noct said through gritted teeth.

"Well, Noctis really has recovered quite a bit since the most recent press photos. But yes — this will be an environment we can somewhat control, with the media already on hand. It will get Noct in front of a lot of eyes, all at once."

"What if it's a bad day?" Gladio asked.

"We don't have to announce it in advance," Ignis said.

Gladio leveled Noct with a serious expression. "And what about you? Do you think you can handle it? Because if you can't, there will be a ton of cameras there to catch you sweating.”

“Yeah,” he said. "I'm getting better at hiding it."

Ignis winced at that. "You can tell us when you're in pain, Noct. You shouldn't hide it."

Noct managed to catch himself. He'd _almost_ laughed. He almost spat back that he was always in pain, so if he didn't seem that way, then he was certainly faking it. Almost — but he pulled up from being a total dick at the very last second, turning the start of a bitter laugh into a cough to clear his throat. Ignis didn’t deserve the raw edge of his temper.

Instead, he said, "I know." 

At that moment, however, someone pounded on the heavy wooden door to the room. “Hey!” a voice called. “We have this room now, it’s on the calendar.”

And so the Crown Prince, followed by his Advisor and Shield, filed out of the room with apologies to a bewildered sanitation committee.

* * *

  
“Smile!” said Prompto, snapping off what sounded like twenty photos in rapid succession.

“Someone kill me,” Noct said, smiling.

“Stop talking, it makes your mouth look weird.”

Noct stuck his tongue out and Prompto laughed.

“Children,” Ignis cut in, “Shall we focus? Prompto, tell him what he needs to do differently.”

“Grow some muscles?” Gladio suggested from near the door of the courtyard garden where they’d set up their makeshift photo shoot (or, as Ignis had labeled it on their color-coordinated schedules, “paparazzi practice”).

“No, try . . . Try holding the cane like you do when you’re trying to convince someone your leg doesn’t hurt,” Prompto said.

“Uh, what?” Noct asked. Ignis’s sudden frown was not lost on him.

“You know, you hold it kind of up, at a jaunty angle. You do it at school all the time.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Noct said, leaning against a tree and softly banging his head back against it in rhythm.

“I’m sure I have a pic of it, lemme look,” Prompto said, sitting down to scroll back through his photos.

Ignis peered over his shoulder. “It seems like the shoulders on this blazer might be a touch wide, looking at the photos,” he said jotting something down in a notebook.

Noct banged a little harder.

* * *

“Son,” his father said, clasping a warm hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t expect you here.” _Here_ was the opening of a new pediatric medical center that the Crown had poured quite a few funds into.

“Yeah, well, Ignis is trying to get me to do more stuff,” he grumbled. Then, he remembered cameras and fixed his face into what Prompto called Smile Level 2.

“I’m glad,” Regis said, squeezing before letting him go and turning to begin his speech.

Noct kicked it up to Level 3.

* * *

Ignis and Noctis were in the hallway at 7:15 in the morning, just as the asshole Council member who kept insinuating that Noctis was being hidden from them all, despite the way he _went to school every day_ , was walking to an early meeting.

“Ah! Councilor Spencer,” Noctis said, striding forwards toward the man, who looked up from the phone he’d been scrolling through while walking in alarm. “It’s good to see you.”

“Oh! Uh, Your Highness, good morning,” he said, taking the hand Noctis had proffered to shake and looking like a deer in headlights.

“I thought the resolution you submitted yesterday was sound,” Noctis said. Or parroted. He had no idea what he was talking about. “Good luck in the vote.”

“Th . . . Thank you, Prince Noctis.”

“Have a good one,” he said, and kept walking until he reached the end of the corridor, where Ignis was waiting.

“I think you caused him to reconsider a few assumptions,” Ignis said, sounding pleased.

“I think I’m going back to sleep for twenty hours,” Noct grumbled. He was not happy to be awake. His body was not happy, and probably had not been happy while asleep either. Every step shot pain up from his knee to his back.

Ignis was frowning at him, again. “You’re not well.”

“Don’t feel good,” Noct said as they made it to the elevator. Now that they had accomplished their early morning task, he could at least stop faking it. And sleep. And probably painkillers.

“We could have rescheduled.”

Noct shook his head. “I can’t just drop everything whenever I’m in pain.” Something spasmed in his thigh, and he had to stop for a moment. “And I didn’t realize how bad.” He thought there was supposed to be more to that sentence, but he didn't bother.

They didn’t say anything else until they made it back to his room. Ignis trailed in after him and brought him a glass of water to chase down the painkillers he kept by the bed.

“Noctis. Please forgive me,” Ignis said, and he sounded so _guilty_. “I should have realized.”

“Ignis,” Noct said, voice tight. “How would you have realized? Why do you keep saying things like that?”

Ignis froze. “Forgive me, Highness. It won’t happen again.”

Noct clenched his jaw. “It was a real question.” He exhaled, trying to think clearly through the haze of pain. He needed to make this right. He tried to relax his voice. “Iggy. Please.”

Ignis didn’t move his gaze from his knees. After a long while, he stood. “Thank you for your concern, Noct.” His voice was smooth and even. “However, I don’t want to trouble you any more than I already have.” He nodded to Noctis and left the room, grabbing his briefcase on the way out.

Noctis braced himself to stand and follow, but his leg spasmed at the movement, and he clutched it in pain instead. He exhaled sharply. Tears stung at his eyes, from pain or frustration or maybe both.

He grabbed his phone and typed out a message to Ignis: **its a shit move walking away from a conversation with someone who can’t chase you.** His thumb hovered over the send button, but in the end, he just deleted it.

He couldn’t force Ignis to talk, and there was no way he wanted to guilt him into it, either. So he buried himself in the covers instead.

* * *

“Gladio,” Noct ventured after he and Gladio left a physio session — Gladio was starting to practice on him with the physiotherapist coaching, which was terrifying, but so far he hadn’t killed him — “do you know what’s up with Ignis?”

It was a risk. Gladio and Ignis were tight, probably because they shared unreasonable goals about trying to keep him from getting himself killed or doing anything exceptionally stupid.

Plus, Noct and Gladio were better, but they still weren’t exactly . . . good.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Gladio said breezily, in a way that made Noctis think he knew exactly what he meant.

* * *

Ignis and Gladio showed up an hour before the ball (which no, he would not be dancing at, thank you very much) to help Noct get dressed and go over The Plan.

Being Ignis’s, The Plan was breathtaking in both scope and level of detail. But it all boiled down to: Show up. Look good. Make a good impression on people and cameras alike.

It wasn’t written in The Plan, but _show my dad I can handle my life_ might have been on his mind, too.

“Who puts a drinks reception at the bottom of a flight of stairs?” Noct grumbled. He’d been practicing those stairs with Berytius. He loathed them with every fiber of his being.

“Are you not feeling well, Noct?” Ignis said, fingers stilling on the bow tie he’d just knotted.

“It’s not terrible, it’s not great,” Noct said, truthfully. “But we’re doing this.”

Ignis crossed his arms. That guilty look was back on his face for the millionth time.

“Ignis, this is all my idea, remember? I got this. We’re okay,” Noct said.

Ignis’s expression went blank again. “If you insist.”

* * *

Noct and Ignis were at the bottom of the steps to the Citadel, greeting guests as they were dropped off by chauffeur at the bottom of the circle drive. Or, Noct was greeting them and Ignis was standing by politely giving him prompts.

So he shook hands and plastered on Smile Level 3.

Ignis had been incredible, murmuring names, prompting him with cues about people he’d met before, dropping occasional little clues of what he can say to elicit a real smile from these people. He’d yet to come up short.

Gladio was in uniform, official, on the clock. Eventually, he caught Noct's eye and nodded; it was time to go up.

The outdoor reception was at the bottom of the stairs for an actual reason: it meant people lingered outside and relieved the elevator traffic up to the ballroom, where the actual event was going on.

And the whole point of the stairs was that they were hard. If he could prove he was capable of socializing, maybe walk up some stairs, people would maybe chill out about him running a country someday.

When they reached the steps, Noctis didn’t hesitate. Not stopping was crucial.

“I assume there’s no contingency plan here,” he huffed to Ignis, keeping his face a study in lightness. _Nothing to see here! Just an able-bodied young heir ascending a completely reasonable number of stairs!_

“There is,” Ignis said, “but it involves explosives, so we’d really rather not.”

It was a testament to both the dryness of Ignis’s wit and the lengths he’d gone to prepare for tonight that Noctis had no idea whether or not that was a joke.

“I got this,” Noctis said with feigned confidence, as his leg and spine and back screamed at him for this suicidal trip up the stairs, and he could swear things were ripping and tearing inside of him, and Ignis said something but Noctis couldn’t hear anything but the roar of pain in his ears and oh gods he was going to be sick but he couldn’t be sick and he just had to keep moving because if he stopped he would surely never, ever move again, and - _THERE_.

They had made it to the top. Noctis kept striding forward, giving a small smile to those who waved at the top and hoping he came off as cool and aloof instead of possibly actually dying. He heard camera shutters; that was good. It hadn’t been wasted.

They walked through the doors and into the lobby, where a string quartet was playing for the guests as they mingled and waited for elevators.

Ignis touched his elbow lightly and led him towards a restroom with an ‘Out of Service’ sign; he swiped his keycard, and it opened to let them in, then clicked behind them.

Noctis kept walking until his feet hit the edge of the toilet’s porcelain, then collapsed over it and threw up whatever he’d had for dinner, and then bile, and the retched a few more times for good measure and leaned back against the cool tile wall of the stall.

Ignis was kneeling with a water bottle, hot pad, and damp cloth. He must have had them ready here. Noctis groaned and reached for the hot pad, placing it on his angry thigh and melting in relief. 

“Please tell me no one could hear any of that,” Noctis said.

“We checked earlier — it’s practically soundproof, and with the fan going like it is, you’d have to be screaming for anyone to hear a thing. And that’s with the lobby dead quiet, when in reality, there’s a string quartet outside.”

Noctis massaged the hot water bottle around his thigh. It hurt, but it was a different kind of hurt, one that also helped.

“Great,” he said, shifting the position of his spine against the wall. “So maybe now you can tell me what’s wrong.”

Ignis didn’t move. Noctis wasn’t known for pushing anything except, perhaps, his caretakers’ buttons — he honestly didn’t know how Ignis would react to this ambush. 

Ignis narrowed his eyes, then tried to play it off with coolness. “I hardly think this is the time for you to be worrying about—”

“—well, Ignis, I’m currently worrying about it all the time, and you won’t tell me anything, so being trapped with you in a soundproof room with nothing to do until five minutes from now when I can stand up again sounds okay to me. And if,” Noctis hissed, “if you fucking _apologize_ again, I may find it in me to throw up again, because I’m sick of it.”

The fan roared in the silence. He could hear the string quartet, faintly.

Ignis slowly sat down next to Noctis with his back against the wall and hugged his bent knees towards his chest. He cut an incongruous figure in his sharply tailored suit on the bathroom floor — though Noct would grant that this was probably the fanciest possible bathroom floor available.

“I . . . It’s . . .”

The silence was so long. Noctis resisted the temptation to interrupt it — that was one way the pain really was making him stronger. He knew he could outlast anything. Eventually, he leaned his head against Ignis’s shoulder, like when they were kids sharing a comic book.

“I should be the one in pain,” Ignis whispered, as if he couldn’t bear to say it any louder. “Not you. I . . . I walked away without a scratch, while you were still trapped and in pain.”

Noctis was already shaking his head, but Ignis held up a hand and rose his voice.

“And no, it’s not just survivor’s guilt. You made a choice. You shouldn’t have wasted your strength healing me. Maybe then, the King could have healed you. Maybe . . . Maybe if you hadn’t been worrying about me, you wouldn’t be hurt like this.”

At some point, Noct’s back had gone rigid and he’d sat up, away from Ignis, to stare at his friend’s face, which was pained. “And — and I’m sorry, Noct, but I _am_ sorry. I’m sorry you were saving me while you were the one dying. I’m sorry I walked away fine, and you didn’t.”

Outside, the string quartet ceased its song, then paused for a smattering of applause before striking up once more.

Noctis took a steadying breath. He was grateful that the hot water bottle was taking the edge off. His mind felt a little clearer, not that he wanted to remember that night clearly.

“Ignis, you . . . you didn’t see yourself. In that car.”

Ignis didn’t move. “I assume it was pretty bad, given the state of my clothing afterward. But surely no worse than what you —”

“You were dead.” Noctis interrupted, clutching his hands into fists and hugging his knees towards him.

Ignis turned to stare at him.

“Ignis, you weren’t just hurt, you _died_. And I watched it happen. If there was any chance I could fix that, I—” his voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “I was gonna do whatever it took to save you. And even if I have no idea how it worked, I’m grateful. I’ve only ever been grateful.”

Ignis stared at him. And then a sob escaped him, the strangest sound Noct had ever heard, but he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, and he was shaking his head. “Noct, if you really — no, you really did, I believe you. But Noct. You didn’t see _you._ In a coma. And every day I see you struggling . . . How can I not feel guilty, knowing it’s my fault?”

Noct swallowed hard. “Ignis, losing you would have messed me up a lot more than . . . this. And it’s not your fault. It was my choice — but it’s not my fault either. We were attacked.”

Ignis sobbed again, and then Noct was crying, too. He leaned into the warmth of Ignis, and the comfort and release of broken-down walls.

Eventually, Ignis wiped his face and stood. “We should go,” he said. “They’ll be starting soon.”

Noctis nodded and shuddered in a shaky breath, wiping his face with the cloth and offering it to Ignis. “Help me up?” he said, holding out a hand.

“Always,” said Ignis, hauling him to his feet.

* * *

Noctis was doing brilliantly, Ignis thought. He was smiling, easy, without overdoing it, opting for some good old-fashioned eye contact and a pleasant glow. It suited him. It wasn’t the fastidious formality Ignis always fell back on, nor the hearty congeniality Gladio extended to everyone (except Noctis), but something all his own.

He looked good, too, in the suit. Ignis felt vindicated about the second fitting he’d scheduled to request a slimmer fit; now, the cut highlighted the Prince’s youth both by skimming closer to his body and through the more modern silhouette. He didn’t look like he was trying to fill up something too big, too weighty.

And they managed to hit every important connection on Ignis’s list. The stodgy finance minister who kept making snide comments, the Crownsguard official who had been arguing against Noctis being involved in anything, the visiting diplomat from Accordo Ignis thought it would behoove them to impress . . . Everyone.

It had gone well.

It had gone very, very well.

* * *

“Noctis, could I speak to you a moment before I retire? Perhaps in my office.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, excitement tingling like sparks in his palms. _Office. Sword._ This was it. Ignis’s plan, all their hard work over the past few months, the golden success of tonight — it had worked.

He reminded himself to look surprised.

He trailed his father down the hallway, into the elevator with Clarus and Gladio. On a night like tonight, with the Citadel full of high-profile visitors, they’d stay on duty until late. After Noctis and Regis themselves had gone to bed.

Clarus and Gladio stayed in the sitting room outside the office while Noctis and Regis went through, and Regis sat down on the office’s leather sofa with a relieved expression on his face. Noct settled into the armchair opposite.

“So,” Regis said with a smile on his face, “how was it?”

“Long,” said Noct. “You should make those an hour long, tops. I think everyone would be secretly relieved.”

Regis chuckled. “Ah, but then, you never would have had a chance to charm Lady Spencer.” His expression grew more serious, though he still looked pleased. “Noctis. I wanted to let you know that your efforts over the past months have not gone unnoticed. I know I do not say it enough, but I am so very proud of you. You have come so far.”

His father rose and placed a warm hand on his shoulder, and Noctis basked in the sensation of not having fucked up.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said. “It . . . Thanks. Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto helped me out a lot.”

“Ah, yes. That’s why I wanted a moment with you in private.”

Noct’s heart started racing. This was it. _Don’t forget; surprise._

“I know you have wanted one of those, ah, what are they called? Video game consoles for some time. And with your excellent attention to both your schoolwork and royal duties, I believe you have proved to be responsible enough to keep your balance. Plus, I know all your friends are playing, and I’m sure you could use a little more, ah, fun in your life.”

Noctis was staring. Jaw open. Whole nine yards. “ _What_?”

Regis chuckled, looking a little embarrassed. “Ah, if it’s that surprising, I guess I’ve been a bit too strict with you. But you deserve it, son.” He rose and patted Noct on the shoulder. “Now get some rest — you deserve that, too.”

Noctis rose automatically and followed, shame propelling him forward. He had thought — he had really thought — but it was so _stupid_ , because of course not, of course he wasn’t good enough for . . . For what? For the thing he’d been born to do?

Thankfully, Clarus and Regis didn’t really look at him as they set off towards Regis’s room.

Gladio, however, waited until their fathers were gone, then said, “Something up?”

"Do you think Berytius would be able to train with me tomorrow?”

“Uh, he’d probably make time if I asked. Why? Does something hurt?”

Noct rubbed at his temple with his fist; a headache was forming behind his eye, and a really bad idea was taking root somewhere behind that. His father was never going to trust him. And he was done putting on a pony show for pats on the head.

He thought of the sword in the closet, made for him, waiting for him. He had dreamed of it, when Carbuncle had come and pulled him out of that strange dream world — of flying through the air, chasing the blade. He _knew_ he could do it.

“Yeah, and I want to ask him to check some . . . Stance things out,” Noct said. “Do you think we could get a private room?”

Gladio was frowning, but he nodded. “Sure, okay. I’ll ask him in the morning and try to get you set up for the afternoon.”

Noct didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just started walking towards his room and hoped Gladio didn’t pry. If his father didn’t plan to teach him how to warp, how to fight, then he would find another way.


	13. Fire In Your Eyes

The morning after the Founder’s Ball, Ignis woke up to a text from Prompto.

Noctis’s school friend was the Prince’s opposite in many ways, not least of which was his propensity for early rising. Even on weekends, Prompto woke up, went for a run, and was home eating breakfast before 6 a.m. Meanwhile, Ignis had a hard time persuading Noctis to rise in the single-digit hours.

He swiped away a few email notifications and opened the text: **Hey, did it go ok last night? Noct never answered me, he was probs just tired but I know he wont text me back until liiiike noon now.** He texted back to assure Prompto that the evening had gone remarkably well and thank him again for his help with the preparations.

Then, seeing as he was already awake, he decided he might as well get an early start on the day. It had been a late night, but success was invigorating; he could begin planning a new round of events for Noctis to review.

Besides, there was something else he needed to research.

He changed into casual, weekend clothing (slacks and a cable-knit sweater over a button-down shirt) and padded down the spiral staircase in his house slippers, running one hand over the polished oak of the railing.

His uncle was already at the table, and when he saw Ignis, he put down the sheaf of papers he’d been reading and smiled. “Good morning, Ignis. I’m sorry I didn’t last until you came home last night — how did everything go?”

“It couldn’t have gone much better, to be honest,” Ignis said, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the buffet. “His Highness certainly rose to the occasion.”

“Excellent! It’s good to hear your hard work paid off."

"Thank you,” Ignis said, grinning. “It does feel good when things go according to plan.” He fetched a croissant and some strawberries from the kitchen counter, bidding a good morning to that day’s housekeeper, then settled down in the middle of the long table.

“Uncle, do you know much about how a phoenix down works? I’m not at all familiar with the particulars.”

“Hmmm,” his uncle said, pursing his lips and looking into the distance. “I’m no expert, but I believe the base mechanism is similar to how potions, elixirs, and other curative items work. Namely, someone who can channel the Crystal’s magic — so, a member of the Lucis Caelum bloodline, or a Glaive connected to the Crystal — imbues a single phoenix feather with a certain quantity of healing magic, chosen as an ideal conduit for storing and channeling large quantities of curative power. If used within the first moments after bodily death, before irreparable damage has occurred to the brain or the soul has passed beyond, it is able to heal the body and allow the soul to return.”

Ignis was nodding. “That is helpful, thank you. And what would happen if someone tried to use that quantity of magic without the channel of the feather? In a free-spell manner, so to speak.”

“I would imagine not much, beyond tiring the person who attempted it,” his uncle replied. “The quantity required is greater than can be channeled quickly enough to prevent permanent death. Even kings cannot revive someone if they have not prepared the correct curative in advance.”

Ignis crossed his arms and leaned back, suddenly uninterested in his croissant.

“Ignis?” His uncle looked concerned.

“Last evening, His Highness told me that, in the aftermath of the Marilith attack, I was — ah, was dead. Briefly.”

Something dark flickered over his uncle’s face. “And someone used a phoenix down on you? That would indeed explain your lack of injury following the event.”

“No one used a phoenix down on me,” Ignis said. “I regained consciousness before Lord Amicitia had finished removing the vehicle’s roof. And . . . Noctis remembers reviving me.”

Some tension melted down from his uncle’s shoulders. “Ah. I see. His Highness must have been mistaken, then; you may have been close to death, but if you had actually died, it would not have been possible for him to revive you.”

“That is what I would have thought,” Ignis said, staring at the red strawberries. And yet . . .

“You don’t seem convinced.”

Ignis sighed and stood up. “I don’t believe I have ever showed you the scars I acquired that night.”

“Scars? You were uninjured, Ignis.”

“I believe the physicians mistook them for old injuries,” he said, pulling up his shirt. “They are faint, but this one runs from here to here” — he traced the line that started just beneath the middle of his left ribcage and crossed down towards his right hip-bone — “and it’s mirrored on the back,” he said, turning so his uncle could find the faint pink line.

When he turned around again, the dark look was back on his uncle’s face. “Have I told you recently how glad I am to have you, Ignis?”

“Likewise, Uncle,” he said. “But you see what I’m saying.” If a blade had gone in the front and come out the back, it would have severed his spine completely and hit pretty much every major organ available. Death would have been swift, to say the least.

“What does the King say about this?”

“To be honest, I’m not certain whether Noctis has ever spoken with him of it.” 

His uncle was still frowning at him, but then he shook himself and picked up the paperwork he’d been reading. “I suggest you do so, then.”

* * *

Several hours later, when Ignis reached Noct’s room in the Citadel for their usual 11 a.m. lunch, no one answered when he knocked. That wasn’t terribly unusual at any time Noct classified as “early,” and after the previous evening, Ignis wasn’t at all surprised Noct hadn’t risen yet.

He let himself in and flipped the lights on. “Morning, Highness.”

There was no answering groan. Ignis checked for lumps beneath the covers to be sure, but Noct wasn’t in bed. A sudden panic seized him, but then he heard voices in the hallway.

“—yeah, well, I call ‘em like I see ‘em, and if you’re hobbling around like that you need to stop before you hurt yourself.” That was Gladio, sounding put-out.

“I can decide for myself if I’m pushing it! I don’t need everyone else cutting me off.” That was Noct, almost to the door.

“Maybe you should push yourself a little more when you’re training with _me_ instead of just Berytius, then — and by the way, he definitely agreed with me.”

Noct was still making an aggrieved noise in the back of his throat when he flung the door open and stormed past Ignis, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Good luck with that one, Iggy, he’s a brat today,” Gladio called behind his shoulder, loudly, as he stormed back down the hall. Meanwhile, Noctis climbed directly into bed and pulled the covers over his head. He may or may not have been screaming frustration into a pillow.

“Noct, what’s wrong?” he asked, alarm spiking in his stomach.

“Nothing,” Noct yelled without removing his head from beneath the covers or un-muffling his mouth. “Leave me alone.”

“Noctis, if there’s something wrong, I want to help.”

“You can help by _leaving me alone_.”

Ignis left him alone.

* * *

“Thank you for making time to see me today, Your Majesty. There was no rush.”

“Not at all, Ignis,” King Regis said, stirring milk into his tea and setting the spoon back down on the saucer with a gentle clink. “I was glad to have the chance to thank you for your assistance to Noctis last night. He told me how invaluable you were.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ignis said. He had wondered if perhaps Noctis and King Regis had quarreled after they had retired to the King’s office, but based on the King's demeanor, it didn’t seem like that was the explanation for Noctis’s poor mood.

They talked a little more about the previous night, and Ignis’s schooling, and Noctis’s progress. Then, Ignis told him about what Noctis had said, about reviving him. The King’s face was impassive, but Ignis thought he saw a flicker of something like . . . fear . . . when he finished.

“Ignis, thank you for telling me this. I do not think it is anything to be concerned about.”

“I wasn’t concerned, per se, but I thought it would be useful for you to have that information about Noctis’s capabilities.”

Regis wasn’t looking at Ignis any longer, though; his gaze lingered in the air. Then he shook himself and stood. “Thank you, Ignis. It is always a pleasure to see you. I have one favor to ask you — unfortunately, something has come up and I will not be able to meet with Noctis for armiger training this week. Please adjust his schedule accordingly.”

“Certainly, Your Highness,” Ignis said, bowing himself out. The King did not follow him out of the office.

In the hallway, Ignis pulled out his phone to update Noct’s calendar. He almost put the phone back in his pocket, then stopped. He tapped the King’s own schedule with his thumb; he had access in order to coordinate Noctis’s schedule.

The armiger training sessions were still on the King’s calendar. Ignis refreshed the page, and then they vanished. Now _that_ was certainly curious . . . he was missing something about all of this.

However, a text from Noct popped up in that moment and interrupted the train of thought: **srry 4 being dumb. still here?**

* * *

Ignis and Noctis sat by the koi pond, watching the fish swim.

Despite the fact that much of the guest wing was occupied after the Founder’s Ball, the garden was empty. It was a shame; it was lovely as ever. But perhaps visitors to the city were more interested in urban sightseeing, Ignis reflected.

Noctis wasn’t saying anything, just staring after the fish. His eyes were rimmed red and he was holding himself stiffly, but more than that, he just seemed . . . defeated. Like he had in the first months after the accident, when nothing seemed to spark light in his eyes.

He weighed his options. Sit in silence? It wasn't working so far, but at least he could keep Noct company. Push for an answer? That rarely seemed to work; Noct usually either retreated or lashed out. Share his own conversation with the King, his suspicion that the King knew Noctis had incredible magical ability but . . . did not want him to develop it? Something told him Noctis would find it discouraging. _I don’t need everyone else cutting me off,_ he had said.

He had just settled on ‘sit in silence’ when Noctis clenched his fist and turned towards Ignis. “I need you your help with something, even if you don’t like it.”

He went on to explain, and no, Ignis did not like it, but there was fire in Noct’s eyes. He swore to himself that he would never let it go out again.

* * *

When Gladio walked into their training session grinning like a hyena, Noctis knew nothing good would come of it.

“Pack your bags, Princess,” he said as he slung his duffel onto a bench. “I had to go through three different levels of the government and there’s no getting out of it. This weekend is survival skills training.”

“Always with the toxic masculinity,” Noctis muttered, falling into a wide defensive stance, wooden training sword coming up into position. He wasn’t going to give Gladio the satisfaction of asking what the hell he meant. Besides, a wooden training broadsword was audibly whistling towards his face.

He found out that evening, when Ignis came by his rooms to pack his bags while he sat at his desk typing up a paper for class on symbolism within the Cosmogony; his teachers had been relentless as they approached the end of their second year of high school, and Prompto's pleas to ban exams were starting to feel tempting.

“I’m guessing you know what Gladio meant by survival training?” he ventured.

Ignis snorted. “Did you not ask?”

“Nope.”

Ignis sighed. “I do wish you both would just talk to each other.” When Noctis didn’t say anything to that, he continued. “You two are going camping. One night. Inside the Wall, of course — but there’s a heavily wooded nature preserve that allows for recreational camping. Gladio suggested it as a way to hone your survival training.”

“And it’s just me and Gladio?” Noctis asked, tension blooming in his jaw.

Ignis put down the shirt he’d been examining and came over by the desk, folding his arms and leaning against the wall it faced. It was a move that spared Noctis from having to twist his back to talk — and it also made it really hard to not look Ignis in the face. “What of it?”

“He’s gonna murder me in the woods and bury my corpse where no one will find it,” Noctis mumbled, leaning over the desk and studiously not looking at Ignis.

“Noctis.”

 _Fine._ He pushed his homework forward, leaned back in the chair, and beamed an over-the-top fake grin at his friend. “Ignis.”

“Whatever differences you may have, Gladio is devoted to serve and protect you, and he takes that duty very seriously. If you just tried to —”

“No.”

“Funny,” Ignis sighed, pushing himself off the wall to head back to packing, “that’s exactly what Gladio said.”

* * *

Ignis dropped them off at the forest preserve with a cooler full of camp meals and an admonition about bug spray.

Gladio was clearly in his element, humming to himself as they hauled the gear to the campsite. He set up the tent while Noct tried fruitlessly to get cell phone signal, then gave up and whined in a camp chair about how hot it was for a while until Gladio was done with the tent.

"C'mon," he said, holding out a hand to help Noct up. "Let me teach you how to fish."

For all his faults, Gladio was a patient teacher. He showed Noctis how to respool the line and choose a lure. He demonstrated a cast, then gave a nod of approval when Noctis made a passable first attempt. They were out on a pier into the lake, and for once, Gladio had thought to bring _chairs_ along — camping chairs, sure, but he wasn’t expecting Noctis to stand at the end of the pier for hours, and he appreciated that.

Because it was hours. Somehow, the whole day went by out on the pier, neither of them saying much. The line broke on Noctis a couple times, but he managed to reel in a horned bluegill, and then a Lucian carp, and just keept going.

“I gotta say, I really didn’t expect you to take to fishing,” Gladio remarked, breaking a silence that had stretched for the hours since Gladio stopped needing to chide Noctis into changing the line.

“It’s nice,” Noctis said, voice as taut as the line. He eased off, then reeled again.

“What do you like about it?” 

“Why do you care?” Noctis could feel Gladio’s eyes on the back of his head.

Gladio didn’t say anything for a minute. “Just . . . humor me.”

Noctis had to reel the fish in, then, and it gave him time to think through the actual answer to Gladio’s question.

Yeah, it was nice to be out here on the dock, by the water, in the fresh air. But that wasn’t why. He gritted his teeth; he was really trying to not be a jerk, but everything he did seemed to set him up for a take-down.

“I could tell you, but it has to do with being in pain, so you probably don’t want to hear it,” he ventured, trying to blend the olive leaf of honesty with an arms-length of sarcasm and protective dash of self-deprecation. _What a cocktail._

Gladio huffed, almost as if he was hurt by that — which he had zero right to be. But he said, “I’m listening.”

Noctis cast again, to give himself something look at and do with his hands while he tried to put it into words.

“First of all, the lake is . . . nice.” He swallowed, feeling weirdly nervous for talking about fishing. “And it’s like — it doesn’t look like you’re doing much, but you have to be aware of how you’re holding the rod, and the lure in the water, and how much to move it. And then, when you get a bite, you’re managing the tension in the line, seeing . . . seeing how much you can push it before it breaks. You try to get the most you can out of it without pushing it so hard that it snaps and you’re shit outta luck.”

He didn’t look to see Gladio’s face. He slowly reeled, hoping to attract something to the lure.

“So, it just kind of reminds me of being me. Doesn’t look like a lot is happening, but I’m always . . . aware of being in my body, and trying to think ahead to make sure I can handle what’s coming next without . . . breaking the line.” 

There was a long silence. Long enough that Noctis was mostly only thinking about fishing again.

“Oh,” Gladio said.

“Yeah,” Noctis replied.

Eventually, Noctis reeled in the lure and packed up the rod. Gladio did the same, and they headed back to camp.

Gladio set up the camp fire and ignored the food Ignis had packed in favor of Cup Noodles. They ate mostly in silence, and then sat by the fire as the stars came out. Gladio read a book by firelight and Noct played King's Knight with Prompto, apologizing in advance that he'd probably lose the connection halfway through the campaign, but it held on.

“So,” Noctis said after an hour went by like that, not looking up from his phone. “We gonna have that heart-to-heart?”

“Nah, I think we’re good,” Gladio said, flicking to the next page.

“Mm,” Noctis grunted. “Gonna stop being an asshole to me?”

Gladio plunked the book down with a thud. “Fine. Heart-to-heart. Put your damn phone down.”

Noctis swung out his arm to the side, casually dropped the phone onto the dirt, and raised his chin to meet Gladio’s stare.

“I’m an asshole because I want to keep you alive.”

Noctis considered that answer. He cracked his neck from side to side like he was rolling it around in his brain. “Doesn’t explain why you haven’t been able to stand me since I got hurt.”

Gladio exhaled, and it puffed into the night air, which had turned chilly, as a visible breath. “Here’s the thing. You being injured puts a target on your back . .. It marks you as an easy target.”

“So help me figure out how to not be an easy target — unless you think I’m doomed anyway?” Noctis added the last part flippantly, but it kind of made sense. What a fruitless exercise, trying to defend someone who would never be able to defend himself.

“That’s not — it’s not what I think.” Gladio was staring into the fire. “When you got hurt, it didn’t just make your life harder because you’re dealing with the injury. It made it harder because people will look at you and assume you’re weak, even if you aren’t. Even if you’re _stronger_ , you’ll still have to work harder than if you’d never been hurt. And it will be harder because you are hurt. So I can’t . . . Can’t grade on a curve or give you a break just because you’re in pain, because no one else will. The opposite. And it’s on me to make sure you can wipe those bastards off the face of Eos for underestimating you.”

It was a lot. From Gladio, it was more than a lot.

“And?” asked Noct, pushing it.

“And yeah!” Gladio burst out. “Yeah, I’m scared that you can’t do it. I'm terrified I won’t be _there_ to stop something bad from happening — again. If it does, I’ll have failed as your Shield. And as your friend.”

There was a long silence only filled by the pops and crackles of the fire. Eventually, Noct stood and stretched. “I want to show you something, but you can’t freak out.”

Gladio didn’t look like that was what he had been expecting.

Noctis pulled the dagger he’d been practicing with out of the armiger, flipped the handle in his hand a few times. Then, he chucked it straight up into the air — and warped to it.

For a moment it felt like he was flying against the starry night, but he immediately threw the dagger again, straight into the bark of the giant oak tree looming over their campsite, so that when he warped again, he was hanging by one hand only a few inches off the ground. He dismissed the blade and dropped to his good leg.

“My dad will absolutely murder me if he finds out I’m practicing this,” Noctis said, pulling his cane out of the armiger to walk back towards the fire. “He told me no. He told me no . . . A lot.”

Gladio was staring at him with something satisfyingly close to wonder, and he wasn’t sure if it was even about the warp. “Yeah, but . . . you might actually last five seconds with that trick.”

“Ignis has been teaching me the throwing daggers,” Noctis said. “But the warping itself I’m just trying to figure out on my own. I managed to sneak by some Kingsglaive training sessions, but I need more help.”

“Berytius?”

“Fuck no, I’m not an idiot. I feel bad enough getting Ignis involved.” _And now you,_ he thought.

“Why doesn’t the King want you doing this? I assume that’s the problem.”

“He says I’m too young, and that it’s too dangerous — which doesn't make any sense. He didn’t even want to teach me how to use the armiger after I was injured, and he made sure to make it go as slow as possible. So maybe he’s scared I can’t do it. Or that I can't do it and people will find out if he tries to teach me.”

Gladio exhaled. “And then you’ve got an even bigger target on your back.”

“But I _can_ do it. I’m not a natural — the new Glaives pick it up faster than I did. But I’ll get the hang of it. I just need to be able to practice."

Gladio was thinking it through. “Show me that again.”

Noctis tossed the dagger up again, as high as he dared — he’d learned from painful experience that too high was safer than too low — and appeared in mid-air, then aimed at the tree . . . and missed.

Instead of warping to the tree, he warped to where the knife lay on the ground, which he crashed into noisily, sending dead tree leaves flying. “Ugh!”

Gladio was there in an instant to give him a hand up. “You OK?”

“Yeah,” Noctis said, and though his body was lighting up with pain, he returned Gladio's grin.

“Okay, show me something more basic.”

Noct caught his breath, then phased. There — not there — there.

“Again.”

He did it again, then held up a hand. “I can’t go more without stasis. But the more I practice, the more stamina I’ll build up. I think.”

“That’s true for the Glaives,” Gladio muttered. He was literally circling Noct, appraising him. “But if we can get it so that you’re warping and phasing more than you’re actually stepping . . . Shit. It makes it hard that your dad doesn’t know.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Noctis asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. Telling Gladio had been his choice. He wouldn’t ask him to keep secrets.

“I sure as hell won’t lie,” Gladio said. “And I will absolutely throw you under the bus if I have to.”

 _But I won’t tell if I don’t have to,_ Noctis filled in. He grinned. “Fine by me.”

“We might have to schedule more of these trips,” Gladio said. “Maybe I can sit in on the training for the new Kingsglaive recruits before then.”

* * *

When Ignis picked them up, it was immediately clear that things had changed between Noctis and Gladio. They were speaking to each other, for instance. Noctis was having Gladio install the King’s Knight app on his phone when he arrived.

A smile crept onto his face. “Did you two have that heart-to-heart?”

“No,” they both answered at the exact same time, and Ignis could only roll his eyes.

“Hey,” Noct said, “what are you doing next weekend, Specs?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, thanks so much to everyone who has followed along this far. I can't believe we're more than halfway through! And oh my goodness, the comments on the last chapter . . . YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST.


	14. Bros on the Road

“You guys, you guys, you guys, this is amazing!” Prompto said, literally bouncing in his seat. He was embarrassing himself, but his ability to care was fading fast as the city’s skyline disappeared in the rear-view mirror.

The soaring buildings crammed into traffic-choked city blocks had given way to residential neighborhoods, like the one where Prompto lived, which had themselves given way to more suburban areas studded by parks. Then, they turned down a gravel path beneath arching trees, and WHAM.

_Narnia._

His Royal Smugness was smirking in the backseat. “It’s like you’ve never seen a tree before, Prompto.”

“It’s not about the trees, it’s about the forest, duh.” He gestured wildly with his free arm to _all of nature._

“It is indeed refreshing to be immersed in the natural world,” Ignis agreed.

“Just wait till you see the campsite I found,” Gladio said. “It’s got a great view.”

“I’m gonna get so many good pictures,” Prompto said, trying to capture the trees out the window, but the car was moving too fast. Instead, he snapped a picture of Ignis driving. "This is the best day of my life."

“He’s gone,” Noct said, whistling.

“C'mon, seriously!" Prompto said, wishing someone else would pick up on his vibe. "It’s almost like a real adventure, out there in the big world, you know?”

“Sure would be cool to get into some real wilderness,” Gladio said. “You can forget about being so close to the city out here, but there’s not a ton to explore.”

“Well, with the war as it stands now, I doubt you’d want to get caught out beyond the Wall,” Ignis said, and that kinda killed the mood. They settled back into silence.

Prompto had never been super into following current events, but now that he was friends with the Crown Prince, he kept an eye out. At least on the big stuff . . . and there had been a lot of _big stuff_ , lately. The Empire was getting bolder outside the Wall, the uneasy stalemate edging back into open warfare on Lucian soil. An entire town had recently burned to the ground where Imperial soldiers and Kingsglaive had clashed.

When they pulled into the campsite, though, everyone loosened up again. They unpacked the car and Prompto tried to make himself useful by helping Gladio with the tent.

“Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he told Gladio, holding up a tent pole the way he’d been told.

“You’re good, it’s nice to have someone on hand who actually wants to help set up camp,” Gladio told Prompto, popping the last piece into place and turning to glare at Noct, who had collapsed dramatically into a camp chair at the earliest opportunity.

“Isn’t it?” Noct said airily, not opening his eyes.

“Ignis, is that a . . . stove?” Prompto asked, not quite believing his eyes. Ignis was hooking up a propane tank.

“Indeed,” Ignis replied. “When I accompanied these two last time, they expected to subsist on Cup Noodles the whole time.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with Cup Noodles,” Gladio growled. “But I won’t say no to a home-cooked meal.”

 _Yeah, you and me both, buddy,_ Prompto thought.

“Can you even cook, Specs?” Noct asked without opening his eyes.

“I haven’t much tried,” the advisor admitted. “But the recipe I’ve chosen is simple enough. Mind lighting the fire before you and Gladio start practicing? It will take a while to get hot enough.”

Noct groaned and got to his feet, clearly reluctant to leave the chair, but walked to the fire pit where Prompto had dumped an armload of wood from the car. He was holding his cane with his left hand; he made a twisting motion with his right hand and a flame flickered to life, cupped within his palm. He leaned over the wood and held flame to log until it ignited, then straightened and looked at Prompto with a smirk in answer to his wide eyes.

“Dude—” Prompto said.

“Cool, huh?” Noct said smoothly.

“Your sleeve is on fire!” Prompto squeaked, dashing forward.

“Shit!” Noct flapped his arm frantically, and the flame that had been licking up the cuff of his black hoodie thankfully went out, leaving a singed smell in its wake. He stared at it for a long moment.

“ _Oh my gods_ you almost lit your _whole self_ on fire,” Prompto breathed, watching a wisp of gray smoke curl up from the charred edge of the sleeve.

Noct looked at him with wide eyes, and Prompto stared back, and then they both burst into peals of laughter that probably scared away any wildlife within a mile that Prompto might have been able to photograph. His stomach hurt by the time he finally managed to get a grip, but then Noct _snorted,_ so they broke down again until Gladio bodily hauled Noctis away to practice warping.

Prompto watched for a while, but the thrill of watching Noct re-materialize himself in the air wore off pretty quickly once Noct “hit stasis,” whatever that meant, and Gladio dragged him to the side to help him with some knee exercises. He drifted back over to the fire where Ignis was toasting some bread on skewers.

“Want a hand, Iggy?” Prompto asked.

“If you don’t mind taking over the toast, I can get started on the eggs,” Ignis said gratefully, handing off the skewers.

“No problem,” Prompto said. And it wasn’t, until Pryna came bounding up out of the woods and skidded to a stop by his feet, panting expectantly. “Ahhhh hey girl! I’m sorry I’ve got my hands full, but Noct’s over there,” he said, jerking his head towards the sound of Gladio barking out directions. Pryna sniffed, seeming offended, and trotted off.

A few minutes later, both men and the dog walked back to the fire, Noct leaning on his cane harder than he had before their session. Gladio cracked his knuckles. “Your turn, Prompto. Loverboy’s got a letter to write.”

Noct turned red but had no better comeback than unintelligible grumbling.

Prompto, meanwhile, turned white. “Uh, I dunno, big guy.”

“C’mon, I’ll go easy on ya, let’s just put you through a few basics,” Gladio smirked, looking like he would eat Prompto for lunch. 

“Gladio, you should really challenge Prompto to a race,” Noct said casually, but with a trouble-making little grin on his face.

“Blondie’s fast? Sure, you’re on,” Gladio said, slapping Prompto on the back with _uncalled for_ force.

“To the big tree,” Noctis said, pointing to a tree that would make the race an extremely close approximation of the 400-meter-dash Prompto excelled in. “Ready, set, go!”

Prompto took off in a sprint and didn’t stop till he crashed into the tree, doubling over and gasping for air. “Dude, you gotta give a guy time to warm up,” he called back to Noct. He finished the sentence a solid ten seconds before Gladio crashed past him, then leaned over with his hands on his knees, panting.

“Damn, kid, you _are_ quick.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Prompto muttered.

But Gladio didn’t notice; he was circling Prompto with a grin that spelled trouble. “Yeah, we could use that.”

* * *

The sun had set in earnest, the fire casting a warm glow over their campsite, as Ignis washed up from a mostly successful attempt at _croque madame_ sandwiches. Gladio was reading a book by the fire, Prompto was wincing while he stretched out muscles Gladio had recently located for the first time, and Noct was stroking Pryna’s head absently while frowning at the red leather notebook from Lady Lunafreya.

“Hey, Ignis,” Noct said, not bothering to turn around to face him. “What’s that whole Chosen King deal again?”

“Come now, you remember your Cosmogony lessons.”

“Yeah, something about battling the dark and saving Eos.”

“Something like that, indeed,” Ignis said, continuing to wash plates in the tub.

“So . . . why would Luna think I’m the Chosen King?” Noct asked, when it became apparent Ignis didn’t plan on saying anything else.

“ _What_?”

“Here,” Noct said, reaching behind him to hand the notebook up without looking.

Ignis rolled his eyes, dried his hands on a tea towel he’d packed, and took the notebook out of his hands. He settled down closer to the fire in order to be able to see the most recent missive from Lady Lunafreya, who really did have impeccable penmanship.

> _Dear Noctis,_
> 
> _I wish I had more cheerful things on my mind, but the darkness around us seems so bleak right now. In moments like these, I can only hold fast to hope. I know it will only get darker before the dawn, but the dawn will come. I suppose I don’t need to tell you that, though perhaps being the future Chosen King is as little comfort to you as being the future Oracle is to me. But it is comforting to know we will persevere by the grace of the gods and bring a new dawn together._
> 
> _Speaking of dawn, I suppose I should go to bed so I can wake on time tomorrow. These heavy thoughts won’t do me any good._
> 
> _Love,_  
>  _Luna_

Ignis read the note several times over. “That’s . . . hmm. The Oracle would know, of course. Has she mentioned anything like this before?”

“Hm? Uh, I mean, she’s called me the Crystal’s Chosen a couple times but I kinda just thought that was general, right? Like, the crystal chose the Lucis Caelum line.” 

“Why don’t you ask her about it?” Ignis suggested.

“I mean, I’m not the Chosen King," Noctis said, laughing, though it sounded a little nervous. "It would be kind of self-important to ask if I am.”

“Well, the Oracle’s daughter seems to think you are.”

“Wouldn’t someone have mentioned that before? Like, the actual Oracle?”

“I'll text my dad,” Gladio cut in, closing his book. “He should know, right?”

* * *

“You never told him,” Clarus said, boring holes into Regis from across the desk with the intensity of his stare. “Marked at _five_ , and you never told him.”

Regis massaged his throbbing temple with an open palm. “I never told him.”  
  
Clarus slid his phone across the desk to Regis. “Call him.”

“Don’t you think this conversation would be best in person?”

“Yes, that would have been _best_. It would have been _best_ to have the conversation, in person, at any point in the previous what, 13 years? And now we’re in the middle of a war which, if your son’s calling indicates anything, is only going to get darker. So you’ll just have to settle for a phone call, Regis, because you have wasted enough time.”

Regis glowered at his oldest, dearest friend. “You’re angry.”

“Well, my son is about to find out that your son, whom he is sworn to guard with his life, is the Chosen King of legend, and I would also have preferred to have that conversation in person.” He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice to something just north of a whisper. “But here we are.”

Regis swallowed hard. “I’m not telling him . . . the end,” he said softly. Clarus was the only human on Eos who knew what he meant: a vision of swords and blood on the throne.

“You don’t have to,” Clarus said, tone getting ever-so-slightly more gentle. “But you need to tell him the rest.”

Regis nodded, feeling numb, and picked up the phone.

* * *

Noctis picked his way back from the woods feeling queasy, but trying not to lose his footing on the rough terrain. When he got close enough, he tossed Gladio back his phone, sat down in the camp chair, and stared at the fire. Everyone else got very quiet.

“Well, I’m not allowed to tell Prompto this, but it turns out . . . I’m the Chosen King? Uhm, of legend?” Noct said.

“I know nothing,” Prompto said in a conspirator's whisper, before switching back to his normal voice. “Uh, but actually, I don’t know anything, so maybe you could explain that. Before I forget it forever, and all.”

“It’s a central prophecy of the Cosmogony,” Ignis supplied when Noctis didn’t say anything. “That the Crystal will one day choose a king to dispel the darkness on our star, with all the power of the line of Kings combined with the blessings of the Astrals. What that darkness represents, is up for debate — as is much surrounding the prophecy — but the main idea is that the Chosen King will save all Eos from a terrible fate.”

No one said anything for a long moment, and Noctis watched the fire shift and change, popping and hissing. Whatever he'd been told didn't feel real. No one seemed to know what to say.

“Well, Eos is screwed,” Gladio said.

“May well be,” Noctis agreed with nonchalance.

Ignis, meanwhile, sat with his face buried in his hands.

“You OK there, Ignis?” Prompto asked.

“This is all a little overwhelming,” Ignis said from behind his hands, sounding strangled.

“Yeah, yeah, it doesn’t really change anything though, does it?” Noctis said. “It’s all pretty vague. Someday I’ll do . . . something, somehow. What else is new.”

“We need to _prepare_ ,” Ignis said. “We need to _research_.”

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like anything we learn,” Noctis said, rubbing his cane between his palms.

“You’d rather go in without knowing anything?” Ignis asked sharply.

“Kind of! I mean, I had a lot of questions for my dad, and he was just kinda like,” he blew out his bangs. “’Sorry, Noct, I don’t know what to tell you. The Crystal got all glowy and Bahamut’s voice spoke to me.’ So I’m not really sure.”

“Why don’t you ask Luna?” Prompto said.

Noct thought it over. Obviously, that was the solution. “Yeah, okay, that's an idea.” He pulled out the notebook and stared at it. Then, he stared at it some more. He picked up a pen and clicked out the ballpoint. Then, he clicked it back in.

“Well?” Ignis asked.

Noct looked up; they were all watching him not-writing.

“Man. I really feel like an idiot,” he muttered. What could he say? _Hey, Luna, you know how you thought I was strong and capable and destined for great things? Well, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, so help me out here. Love, Noct._

“You want _me_ to write to your Princess instead?” Gladio threatened when he still didn't move.

“Ooh, tell her I say hi!” Prompto said.

“Okay,” Noct said, a smile flickering on his face. That was something to start with, at least.

> _Dear Luna,_
> 
> _The guys and I are on a camping trip right now. We can’t go outside the Wall, but the woods are beautiful, and you can see some stars at night, too. They all say hi._
> 
> _I don’t really know how to say this, but I actually just found out about the whole being the Chosen King thing. I’m sorry if this is disappointing, but I don’t know what to do. Whatever it is I’m supposed to do, I want to do it. But where do I even start?_
> 
> _\- Noct_
> 
> _P.S. I’m really sorry. I know this isn’t comforting._

As soon as he finished, he regretted everything and went to rip the entire page out. Before he could, Pryna snatched the notebook off his lap and sprinted off into the night.

“Hey!” he called after her, but she didn't stop. He joined Ignis with his face buried in his hands. “Ugh. I’m the worst Chosen King in the whole world and now Luna’s gonna find out.”

“Lucky for you you’re the only Chosen King in the world,” Gladio said.

“Lucky for me,” Noct said darkly.


	15. The Sleepless Prince of Insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This gif](https://every-lemon.tumblr.com/image/640249173079375872) is the mood of this whole chapter.

The glass of his bedroom window was cool against Noctis’s forehead. It wasn’t the chill of open night air on his face, but it was as close as he could get in a skyscraper after midnight.

The city below was lights, shapes, and _movement_ , even at this hour. Especially at this hour. In the daytime, traffic crawled; now, cars and their lights flowed through city nightlife. Tiny ice crystals, the barest whisper of snow, revealed themselves only in the glow of streetlights.

If he’d been on the other side of the building, it would have been a different view: Insomnia’s government district, always brightly lit with the lamps’ yellow-orange glow, empty and deserted until daylight. He turned to press his aching thigh against the glass, leaning against the frame.

He should sleep.

He couldn’t sleep.

To try would mean aching limbs beneath unbearable sheets, twisting for a position that didn’t exist, one that would let him forget the knives of pain that stabbed between his vertebrae, at least long enough to fall into unconsciousness.

It wasn’t going to happen.

The window's cooling chill eventually became its own ache wrapping around his sorest spots. He pushed away from the window and stripped off his sweats in favor of the shower.

The water was hot, juuust below scalding, when he stepped beneath its blissful waterfall. It only took a few moments before his back and hip began to melt in relief. The bathroom filled with steam despite the whirring fan, and he filled his lungs with moist air.

When his thigh began to shake from standing so long, he sank into the shower chair and hunched forward so that the spray concentrated on his lower back. If only he’d left the light off, he could have just slept here, at least for a few minutes. As it was, he drifted into a kind of buzzing warmth, a relief that left him dizzy with gratitude. Or maybe dizzy from the steam.

Eventually, the water started getting a bit . . . not _cold_ , but less-hot. It would all be diminishing returns from here on out. Relief could never last. He shut off the water, moved a bit easier as he went to towel himself off and find his sweats again.

His phone showed 1:28 a.m., which was so much earlier than he’d hoped. There would be no one even to text until Prompto woke up for his 5 a.m. run, or Ignis checked his phone before breakfast at 6 a.m., which was also when Gladio woke up to head to his morning training session. He could meet his father for breakfast at 6:30 a.m. if he wanted. Or he could wait for Ignis to escort him down to the parking garage where they’d meet that day’s driver at 7:30 a.m. in order to make it to school on time.

The gist was: too much time.

The red leather notebook from Luna was still on his bedside table, waiting for a response. He didn’t have to open it to remember the last letter; he’d memorized it. Or mentally photographed it, because he could picture the loops of Luna’s script.

> _Dear Noctis,_
> 
> _My mother believes that we may be able to aid in your healing, were you to come here. I know it is not an easy journey under the best of circumstances, and these are not the best of circumstances. But I hope you will come. She is really a wonderful healer, and it would be so good to see you in person._
> 
> _Love,_  
>  _Luna_

He tried to imagine a world where he could traipse freely across a war zone. Or where he could leave Insomnia. Or the Citadel, not for school or some public duty, but just because he wanted to.

He eased himself onto his bed, on his stomach, with his phone out; couldn’t stay that way for long, but it would feel good for a little while. News on the death toll from a Kingsglaive-led attack on an Imperial base in Duscae (too high, too many faces) jumbled together with articles on new game releases and memes about hating school as he scrolled.

He flicked open a chronic pain message board where he lurked — he wasn’t allowed to have an account on anything without going through a novel’s worth of paperwork, and he really didn’t feel like subjecting the "royal security people," as Prompto called them, to anything he’d post. But it was nice just to eavesdrop. To remember he was far from the only one.

Turning onto his side, he opened up the photo folder Prompto had set to share with him. It automatically uploaded everything from his camera, which meant twenty bajillion pictures of every little thing. He could comment on these, if he wanted, but he wouldn't right now; no need for Prompto to wonder why he’d been awake at 2:13 a.m. So, instead, he scrolled through photos of yesterday’s sunrise, the winter sky through bare tree branches, a scruffy cat perched on a garbage bin, yesterday’s track meet.

He recognized a couple of Prompto’s track friends. Nice guys, though Noct tried to give them space for Prompto’s sake. There they were making faces on the bus, waiting tense at starting lines, and caught in air mid-sprint as they pounded down the track with a kind of magic he’d lost forever.

At 3:04, he couldn't take it any longer. He sat on the side of his bed and tossed a coin, then caught it on the other side of the room.

The landing jolted his joints, but it was worth it for that split-second of _elsewhere_ , no gravity working to tear him down.  
  
He flickered with the coin back and forth across the room a few times. Ten times. Twenty times.

Then, he sat on the side of his bed (which was stupid, he was going to singe his sheets, but 3 a.m. was made for stupid) and filled his palms with fire. He let the flames go out and replaced them with a crackle of electricity. Sparks dissipated into the air, replaced by a swirl of ice and frost. He spread his hands as wide as he dared and watched the snow fall, felt the chill wind on his face and closed his eyes, imagining night air. Imagining freedom.

He hit the dull emptiness of stasis that blanketed everything and the chill melted away as he slumped down onto the bed, into unconsciousness. Through closing eyelashes he watched the last of the flakes drift towards the ground.

* * *

6:30 a.m. arrived with a vengeance. The alarm severed him from sleep with a tinny bugle (Ignis’s doing).

His limbs felt heavy, like he’d been drained, because duh: putting yourself into stasis was a recklessly idiotic way to get some sleep.

But not sleeping was a good way to die, too.

So.

He felt like death, anyway. Collapsing into unconsciousness never equaled sleeping in a good position. He groped for a couple of pain relievers, chased them with stale water from a silver tumbler, and gave them a five-minute head start before he creaked to life with slow, painful movements, like a video game zombie. He shuffled to the bathroom to try and salvage the way his hair stuck up from falling asleep with it wet.

When Ignis showed up at 7:25 on the dot, he was already leaning on the wall outside his room. He lifted a hand in greeting.

“Good morning, Noct. Did you manage to make it to breakfast?”

“Mnh.”

“Very well, then.”

He handed over a protein bar, which Noct immediately unwrapped and took a bite of, then stowed in his pocket when Ignis stopped paying attention and started talking about research he’d been doing into _royal arms_ — which, to be fair, sounded like it might be interesting any other time but now. Something about the tombs of his ancestors, spectral weapons. He’d ask about it again later.

The bar tasted chalky and went down like lead. His stomach churned; painkillers on an empty stomach was a bad idea. He’d try to eat the rest later.

As soon as the elevator doors opened in the parking garage, cold snaked itself up around his ankles and in the gaps between his scarf and wool coat. Ignis squashed a hat on his head before he could protest — so he protested after.

“My _hair_ , Ig!” It had taken most of the morning to slick it into something resembling normalcy. He didn’t remove that hat, though; damage done, and it was warm.

“Your hair has enough product that I have no doubt it will spring forth in its original form,” Ignis said dryly, opening the door for him.

The driver — Nell today — had the car warm. He leaned against the window and dozed off as they picked through the crawl of daytime traffic in the city.

* * *

On days when it was too cold to eat outside, Noct and Prompto usually ate lunch in an empty classroom on the second floor, sitting on a low counter by the window. No one ever questioned them about it, either. Maybe because they were edging quickly towards graduation or maybe because of who he was. He didn’t like to lean on his title for the purposes of rule-breaking . . . but damn. It was nice to just be _alone_.

He yawned for the millionth time, pressing his shoulder against the window.

“You need a cat-nap?” Prompto asked, smirking.

“Mmmmhmm. If only this window had a sunbeam. Hey, congrats on the PR yesterday,” he added.

“Oh, thanks! It took me long enough to beat that time,” Prompto swung his arm behind his head, like he often did when he was caught off-guard. “Did you like, check the race times online or something?”

“’Course I did. Least I can do, since I can’t come.” In their first year of school, he’d asked Ignis, been shot down courtesy of royal security, and had given up too easily because Prompto deserved a pocket of his life free from Noctis, and it made for a convenient excuse.

But he could still be proud.

“You gonna do track at uni, too?”

“Mmm,” said Prompto, looking out the window and avoiding meeting his eyes. “Dunno, that’s too far off to think about. Hey, the bell’s gonna ring — shall we?” He punctuated the last part by jumping down and bowing with a flourish.

Noct rolled his eyes and eased himself down, too. He would have to figure out why Prompto was being so . . . evasive . . . about the future, but right now, he was too tired to figure out how to figure it out.

* * *

There was nothing good about war. Noctis had begun attending funerals for Glaives and soldiers killed in the line of duty; there were too many, now, for his father to be able to make them all. In fact, there was a plan in place to end their attendance altogether soon, in favor of some other high-ranking someones. It had to be all or nothing, so that there were no accusations of favoritism.

Sometimes, the families were tearfully appreciative of his presence; other times, he could feel resentful eyes on his back, pinning his spine into ramrod straightness for insufferable lengths of time. It wouldn’t do to fidget at a funeral.

No, nothing good about a war.

But he didn't miss Citadel parties.

In fact, the Founder’s Ball had been the last celebratory event in a long while. It wasn't seemly to eat cake in a high tower while towns in the countryside burned. However, tonight, delegations from Accordo and Tenebrae had arrived, and the tide of the war might well depend on how well Lucis rolled out its welcome mat.

Might. Ignis had briefed him; it wasn’t promising. Both regions were under incredible pressure; hell, Accordo was _part of_ the Empire. But even a slight advantage was worth the effort. He thought of the funerals and knew it was the least he could do.

And so Noctis sat in a velvet chair between two diplomats he now knew more about than he did most of his classmates (thanks to Ignis’s rapid-fire coaching), spooning cream of celery soup into his mouth with a practiced tilt and, he hoped, no indication on his face that he hated cream of celery soup. Or that he just wanted to collapse into bed until winter ended.

The statesman from Accordo next to him was scraping the last of the soup from the bottom of the bowl; the sound of it grated on a nerve in Noct’s aching head. The man turned to grin at him. “A little young for that, aren’t you?” he asked, head tilting towards his cane.

 _Fuck you,_ Noct thought, though he said it politely in his head as he laughed with the practice that came from hearing the same damn line what felt like every other time he went in public. But he could die inside for the good of his country. “If only,” he sighed, as if he was confiding, as if that was orignal. “And how was your trip to the city?”

That was the ticket; guy wanted to hear the sound of his own voice. Noct fought against sleep, against fidgeting, against screaming because those knives were back between his vertebrae, against checking his phone to see what Prompto was up to just to feign normalcy for thirteen seconds.

Then the next course arrived, and Noctis could smile and use the moment to excuse himself to the restroom, if only to move for a few minutes (and _yeah_ , fine, text Prompto). He knew Gladio followed, like a shadow. Ignis was deep in conversation with one of the advisers from Accordo. 

On the way, he glanced at his dad at the same time his father glanced at him, and he flashed a grin. His dad flickered one back without pausing what he was saying to the woman he was speaking to.

His dad’s own cane leaned against the table. Noct hated it; they matched, everyone kept saying, like it was cute and not evidence that his dad was dying a little faster every day.

He wondered if anyone ever told his dad he was a little young for it.

He was walking behind the tables, still looking at the cane, when he saw the gun being drawn by a Glaive behind his father’s back. Was there a threat in the room? No — _no_ , that wasn't a Glaive he'd ever seen before, and he was drawing the gun up, at —

He was throwing the dagger before he even remembered summoning it.

He was warping after it in a leap of blue crystalline magic before it had even hit.

It connected, sinking clean through the Glaive’s hand, causing him to drop the gun without firing as Noctis slammed into the man’s bulk with all his weight. They both went toppling.

Noctis recovered first, twisting to pin the man’s hand behind his back, silver dagger gleaming as thick red blood spilled from the wound. He cratered his knee into the man's back. He was still struggling when Clarus knocked Noctis out of the way, slammed the imposter's head into the ground, and roughly hefted the unconscious body towards a waiting Crownsguard.

Pain kept Noctis on one knee, desperately sucking in air until he could see straight again. He was dimly aware of Gladio at his side.

When he raised his eyes, he met his father’s livid stare, and his heart and stomach dropped into a free-fall.

“Get this bastard into a cell for interrogation,” Clarus was barking at the Crownsguard. “Secure the premises, sweep for — oh, thank Astrals, Cor, they’re all yours,” Clarus finished with a sweep of his hand, leaving the scene on the ground to the Marshal. His priority would be to get the King to safety. He hadn’t left Regis’s side, but and he held a protective arm up, if to ward away any further danger, as he turned towards Noctis.

“Noctis, are you—”

“I believe Prince Noctis has the situation well in hand,” his father said, cutting, his voice frozen over with betrayal.

Regis swept from the room with Clarus on his heels, leaving Noctis still on one knee, sucking in ragged breaths.

* * *

The next morning, Ignis arrived early, with a letter.

“Tell me,” Noctis said through clenched teeth. His body was paying for last night. All of it.

“Your request to move out of the Citadel has been approved by the King,” Ignis said in low tones. “There is a condominium being readied, and you may relocate as early as this afternoon.”

Noctis barked a bitter laugh. What a victory.

* * *

No one dared question Regis about his attitude towards Noctis. Not even Clarus.

He wished he could flatter himself to think that it was because he was right, but he could see that Clarus was unhappy. Cor had attempted faint praise for his son's bravery and skill before Regis had pinned him with a righteous stare.

No. Even his closest confidants didn’t dare push him when he was like this.

And he was _furious_.

If he thought about it, he started to shake. He almost wished someone would challenge him so that he could deliver a cutting explanation of how he could not safeguard the well-being of his kingdom when he did not know what was going on with his own son, could not command the respect of his own heir, could stop him from draining his own life away on borrowed magic that would only bring him into pain and danger.

Especially given the instincts that made him reach out a hand to heal someone else as he himself lay broken. To warp into danger to protect a king whose life was infinitely less valuable than his own. Noctis used power to protect those around him, not _himself_.

Yes, eventually Noctis would need to learn how to use all the magic he was able to. He conceded this. But though it would empower him, it would drain him. There was no telling what the side effects would be, given his injuries; the gods had shown they were willing to let their Chosen King suffer so long as he could still channel the Crystal’s power.

So long as they could still claim his life as their blood price.

And if he did not know what was happening with his son, he could not keep him safe; Regis’s protection was only an illusion. Therefore, it was time that Noctis left the protection of the Citadel and saw for himself the tenuousness of his situation.

Maybe then, Regis could focus on clearing a path forward.

* * *

“I’m not trying to be obtuse, but I missed something,” Prompto said, leaning against the counter of Noctis’s new apartment.

Citadel staff brought in boxes of his belongings. There was more in his room there that he would need to sort through, but this would tide him over until that could happen. His father clearly wanted him out and away, and he couldn’t say he’d been kicked out when he’d been pleading for it for months, but it felt that way.

Noctis sighed, and Prompto tensed, but he was beyond niceties at this point. He had done all of this to himself, and if he was wracked with pain, so be it — he couldn’t go back to pulling the covers up over his eyes.

But _oh_ , how he wanted to.

“Someone tried to kill my father,” he finally said. “I stopped them. But he found out I learned to warp behind his back.”

“Huh,” Prompto said, still looking lost. “Uh, and so to . . . punish . . . you for saving his life, he bought you the apartment you’d been asking for?”

“He wants me out of his sight,” Noctis said. He braced a hand against the counter to stretch out a leg; it ripped agony through him, but he didn’t flinch.

Prompto was looking at Ignis, as if for a better explanation, but the adviser only shrugged. “That is about the measure of it.”

“I’m sorry, Prompto,” Noctis said. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to wallow. He had moved onto the other leg, his right leg, and couldn’t suppress a grimace. “Ignis, Gladio. I’m sorry. This is my fault, and I know it makes your life harder.” He raised a defiant chin. “But we’re not stopping. We’re onto something, and we’re going to see it through.”

“Woah, Noct. You’re sounding like a royal all of a sudden,” said Prompto, and it didn’t entirely sound like a joke, either.

Noct flushed and looked down. “Just takes getting kicked out of the castle, huh.”

“You know we will stand by you in anything, Noct,” said Ignis.

“You fucked up,” Gladio said affably. “But you picked the right thing to fuck up.”

“That . . . was surprisingly wise, big guy,” said Prompto to Gladio.

Noctis was blushing in earnest now. “Thanks, guys. I don’t deserve you.”

“Well, we can all agree on that,” Ignis said, a smile curling around his tone. “But the upside is, we now have a very convenient home base.”

His friends started unpacking kitchen supplies, but Noctis wandered, looking around the new place. The cold snap had finally ended today, and though he was sore, the deep wrongness in his joints had eased somewhat. When he opened the sliding glass door to the balcony, the air that wrapped him was cool, but without bite.

He leaned against the railing, feeling the breeze on his face, and watched the city below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just SAY all of you who are following along make my DAY. Every comment lights up my liiiife. Knowing some of you signed up to get! emails! about when this comes out! is amazing. THANK YOU for following along and I'm puuuuumped for the final third. It gets cray so buckle up ;)


	16. Sword-Sworn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I told you lately that you are a wonderful human who has been reading my writing for multiple hours if you have made it this far? No? WELL YOU ARE and I appreciate you.

Dear Noctis,

My mother reached out to your father about hosting you in Tenebrae. It was indeed, as you predicted, “a hard no.” (When we do finally meet, you’ll have to teach me more Lucian slang . . . K, bro? 😉) Nonetheless, we are praying a way will emerge.

I’m afraid I don’t know anything more about the Royal Arms; that must relate exclusively to your family line. However, there are rumors of an old Lucian tomb in the quarry of Fodina Caestino, if that helps.

I suspect my mother knows more than she lets on. Perhaps she would speak more freely to you in person. But I also know that if there was some knowledge that would aid you in your destiny, she wouldn’t conceal it. I would try not to be too troubled at all there is left to discover. The Astrals have ordained ours paths, and they will make them clear, when the time comes.

My mother and I have been venturing out more often, despite the close watch the Empire keeps on us. Some sort of sickness is affecting people, and we’ve never seen it before. It’s an odd kind of darkness, more spiritual than physical, though it causes strange symptoms as well. Have you heard of anything like that in Lucis?

Love,  
Luna

* * *

Noct shuffled into the living room with his cane, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He’d left the blinds open last night and sunlight flooded the room.

The apartment was quiet. Empty. It was . . . really peaceful, actually.

Ignis had shown him how to use the toaster oven yesterday. Now, he took the bread out of the bag, slid it in, and set the dial. The clouds drifted through the blue morning sky outside the windows, and he watched them changing ever-so-slightly as they moved.

When he smelled something burning, he switched the oven off, swiped the toast onto a napkin, and sat down at the kitchen table to eat it. It was dry and slightly singed. He popped his feet up on the chair across from him and leaned back, noticing shapes in the clouds, soaking in springtime sunshine. Winter had seemed to drag on endlessly, but within the past week, things had shifted for the better.

Before he started in on the second slice, he took a picture of himself (bedhead be damned) holding up the toast and sent it to the group chat: **Look guys I fed myself.**

Ignis texted back near-instantly, like he’d been waiting by the phone: **Wonders never cease.**

Prompto, who was probably getting ready for school, also chimed in right away: **Pls tell me thats not the first thing u have ever cooked in ur entire life.** A moment later: **It definitely is isnt it.**

He swiped back: **Dont hate on my toast im a proud toast father.**

He devoured the slice (kinda weird after that metaphor) and just sat, basking in the feeling of being alone, in his own space. Making toast like a normal human being.

Getting kicked out of the Citadel was for sure the best thing that had ever happened to him, especially now that he was on a so-called “temporary” leave of absence from what should have been his last couple weeks of high school.

He lingered at the table, just watching the clouds drift through the sky, for as long as he could, until Gladio finally chimed in a few minutes later: **U had better be ready when I get there loser.**

Time to get dressed for another funeral.

Ignis had written out a literal list of the components he needed to wear, but by this point, he was pretty sure he had it down. (And the list was somewhere, underneath . . . something. He wasn’t really sure.)

First, he styled his hair carefully, sweeping the bangs further out of his eyes than he normally would and taming it into something that was probably far from clean-cut, but would pass for respectable. Or more respectable than people usually seemed to consider him.

The funeral suit was still zipped up in the bag, freshly dry cleaned after the back-to-back burials he’d attended yesterday. It was black, of course. Formal and somber. Not military, but there were little touches with nods to the Glaives, like a series of gold chains that threaded through from chest to shoulder; Ignis had gone back and forth with the tailor for ages on the sartorial direction of this one.

He remembered the cuff links, the extra handkerchiefs in case he needed to gallantly hand one off, the single spray of cologne to rub between the insides of his wrists and just behind the corners of his jaw (”just one spritz, Noctis” Ignis had said pointedly, as if he was still 13 and drowning himself in aerosol deodorant).

He halfheartedly swiped a lint brush over the pants he knew were fine, as they’d just emerged from the protective bag, and checked himself over in the mirror: a perfectly respectable prince stared back at him. Ignis could probably find a problem, but he couldn’t, so it would have to do.

The door buzzer jolted him. He grabbed his cane and headed to the door, punching the intercom’s talk button on the way out. “Yo Gladio.”

“Let’s get over there,” Gladio’s voice crackled through the connection.

Gladio was waiting in the underground parking garage when Noct emerged from the elevator. He wore his Kingsglaive uniform for today; Gladio had some sort of rank within the Glaives, just as he did within the Crownsguard. That despite the fact that once he had sworn the oath of the Shield, he really only had one duty: Noctis.

He had the scar to prove it, now, too. It was still pink, fresh, and painful-looking.

Stubborn idiot.

“All set?” Gladio asked. 

“You bet,” Noct replied, and they headed to the waiting car.

* * *

As fate would have it — and fate did seem to enjoy arriving in Prompto’s mailbox — the two letters showed up on the same morning.

>   
>  _Dear Mr. Argentum,_
> 
> _As the head coach of the University of Insomnia track team, I am pleased to invite you to join our team and extend to you a full scholarship offer. Your impressive athletic achievements and exemplary academics will make you a valuable addition to our team and our prestigious university._
> 
> _Please submit your letter of intent as soon as possible. We look forward to having you on the team!_
> 
> _Coach Syv Unimus_

He set the letter aside and reached for the next with shaking fingers.

> _Dear Prompto Argentum:_
> 
> _After review of your entrance examination results, background check, medical records, physical examination, and references, you have been selected for appointment to the Crownsguard, contingent upon successful completion of your training period._
> 
> _Furthermore, you have received conditional approval to join the personal retinue of His Royal Highness Noctis Lucis Caelum upon completion of your training, as approved by Ignis Scientia. Privileges and duties are to be determined._
> 
> _Please confirm your ability to report for training within the week._
> 
> _Sincerely,_  
>  _Marshal Cor Leonis_  
>  _Head of the Crownsguard_

  
Well, damn. Turned out he was Prompto Argentum, secret badass. He couldn’t help but whistle a little victory fanfare. 

He snapped a photo of the first letter and texted it to his parents. It would give them all a convenient excuse to go their own ways, for them to stop feeling obligated to keep paying for the house and everything else. They had barely stopped at home during his final year of high school and had been making noises about maybe moving outside Insomnia. Odd timing, what with the whole _war raging outside Insomnia_ thing, but he had long given up trying to understand what his parents were thinking. Or, he'd at least given up thinking he’d ever succeed.

He spent a moment picturing that future: the whole _college experience_. The camaraderie of track and the couple guys he already knew who’d be on the team. Spending all day learning about photography, getting ready for a whole career spent taking pictures. Parties to attend. Girls to meet. Friends to make.

Then, he balled up the letter and tossed it in the trash. Who needed Plan B when Plan A came through?

He’d never have thought of himself as a military kind of a guy. But when you had a chance to be a part of something so much bigger than yourself, when your best friend put the crown in Crownsguard, when it was _Noct_ . . .

Well. College would be great and all, but he was pretty sure Chosen Kings were a one-time-in-history deal.

And: Noct.

His best friend by a million miles, which would have been enough — but also, a future definitely amazing king.

Prompto was ruminating on such feelings of friendship and loyalty when his phone pinged with a message in their group chat. It was a selfie of Noct, dark circles under his eyes and hair sticking up in weird ways, grinning like an idiot while holding up a piece of toast that was blackened to ash at the edges. Underneath: **Look guys I fed myself.**

Prompto laughed so hard he started coughing. He’d never known until Noct had recently moved out on his own what an unmitigated disaster the guy was when left to his own devices.

Yep. Noct was gonna need all the help he could get, and Prompto planned to be there.

* * *

The widow of the Glaive being buried today wasn’t much older than he was, Gladio thought. He’d given her a brief but heartfelt bow before the service, after Noctis had met her for the customary words of grief and gratitude.

She looked pretty overwhelmed. She had a kid in her arms, a little girl with a halo of tight, dark curls in a black velvet dress and tights. Earlier, he’d seen the girl take toddling steps through the cemetery grass. Maybe a year old, or two? Iris had worn a little outfit like that to their mother’s funeral.

The service wore on with the same words in the same order as usual. He had it half-memorized by now. This was the last of them, though; the King could no longer be spared for them, and Noctis had been running himself ragged at the rate they’d been going. Someone else would come to represent the Crown.

About time.

Every day, Gladio had to work out the stiffness and knots that had formed in Noct’s back and leg from standing still for so long. His physio training had paid off in spades, but it also made him feel like Noct’s personal torturer on a much deeper level than putting him through the wringer at training ever had. And after two services in a row yesterday? Forget it. It had hurt to even look at the kid.

Not that you’d know it by looking at him now. Noct carried himself like the Crown Prince he was, with perfect court-worthy posture, even though Gladio knew it was hell on his body and could now give clinical names to the muscles that would be shaking underneath.

But he was rising to the occasion, and damn if Gladio wasn’t proud.

And yeah, a few funerals were probably good for the kid. For all of them. They sure as hell reminded Gladio of the stakes involved. But Noct was gonna be in charge of this whole mess soon enough; right now, he should have been finishing up school, not on a leave of absence that Ignis had speculated was likely permanent. At this point, there wasn’t much time left to go back to, anyway. The King had delegated pretty much everything outside the Citadel to the Prince: everything but the war and the Wall. According to his father, King Regis was bearing up under that strain at the low, low price of his last vestiges of youth. 

They stood at the back of the service, as usual, and it was easy to keep his face impassive. The thing about a cut from your forehead to your jaw, especially one that sliced straight through your eyebrow, was that it made expressions painful. Every little movement tugged on the cut. On the night it had happened, once the stupid drunk guy had been hauled off and the Prince was safe back inside his apartment, Noct had tried to give him a potion, but . . .

It was a really bad-ass scar. A little pain was worth a badge of pride.

The little girl was squirming in her mother’s arms up front by the casket, crying and trying to wiggle down. She didn’t seem upset by what was going on — she was probably too young to have any real idea of what had happened — but Gladio knew what it was like to be stuffed in scratchy clothes and asked to sit still.

The woman ducked around the back, close to where he and Noctis stood. She was in tears herself, pleading with the little girl to _shhhh, shhhh, shhhh._

The little girl quieted a bit and reached a hand out towards Noctis, towards the shiny gold chains on the epaulets of his uniform, bright against the black. Noct smiled at her, and she reached out with pudgy palms.

Noct reached back.

The mother relinquished her daughter; you couldn’t exactly say no to a Prince. Noct gave the lady an encouraging little smile and gently bounced the little girl in his arms. She played with the gold chains at his shoulders, babbling happily.

When she started to squirm again, Noct vanished his cane and held up the hand before her eyes. He twisted his fingers and cupped the smallest spark of ice magic above his hand like a snow globe.

The little girl watched the snowflakes fall into his palm and melt, big brown eyes lighting up with wonder, tiny mouth a perfect “O” until it broke into an enchanted smile.

Something tightened suspiciously at the back of Gladio’s throat, and he went back to surreptitiously scanning for threats.

After all, Noct was his to protect.

* * *

Ignis could get used to cooking.

He’d never done much, before. He’d never had a reason to dabble in the culinary arts. But now, with Noctis living alone, away from the Citadel kitchens and seemingly gravitating to the worst junk one could possibly scrounge from a corner convenience store, when he bothered to eat at all . . .

Well. It wouldn’t do for Noct to get _scurvy_.

Thankfully, the internet provided a treasure trove of recipes, video tutorials, and tips. Tonight’s dish was a simple oyakodon inspired by the diner near Noct’s school where they used to stop, now and then. Chickatrice thigh, eggs, dashi, onions, rice . . . he’d taken a fascinating trip to the grocery store near Noct’s apartment for ingredients.

He tossed together salad that Noct would probably ignore, but the others would appreciate.

He could tell Noctis was breathing easier outside the Citadel despite the strained circumstances of his departure. To his knowledge, Noct had never been informed that original plan, before the attack, had been for him to move out at the start of high school, and as he stirred the simmering sauce, he wondered idly what the past three years would have been like. A headache for Ignis, yes, especially considering the state of the apartment whenever he walked in unannounced . . . but he was glad Noct was getting this moment of freedom.

Of course, it couldn’t last. Maybe a couple of years, maybe, before Noctis had to take a direct role in government. If they were lucky. And with the strain of the war and Wall seeming to steal the King’s strength at an alarming rate . . .

Ignis didn’t think they were going to be lucky.

The door opened, and he heard the sounds of Noct taking off his shoes in the entryway. “Smells good in here, Specs.” A moment later, he walked into the kitchen with his uniform jacket tucked under his arm. “Looks good, too. Sorry about the mess.”

“How did everything go?”

“Eh.” Noctis had moved to the sliding glass door and was looking out over the traffic below, golden in fading light, with his arms crossed. “He had a little girl, just a baby.”

Ignis nodded in sympathy. “Why don’t you wash up before the others get here?”

“Gladio should be up in a minute, he just wanted to call his dad downstairs,” Noct said, but headed off to shower.

The water was still running when Gladio let himself in. “I’m not gonna miss doing that,” he said, expression stormy, stretching his arms over his head. Then, he headed to Noct’s fridge to find a bottle of beer he’d likely stowed there himself. “Always a security nightmare.”

“Noct said it was a rough one.”

“He tell you he held the guy’s baby girl most of the time?” Gladio used the bottle opener on his key-chain to lever off the cap.

“Of course he didn’t,” Ignis replied as he scooped sauce on top of the bowls of rice. Noct tried to play it cool, but he had a weakness for kids. Animals, too. Basically, any living being unaffected by status.

Gladio leaned on the counter top and took a swig from the amber bottle. “You want a hand?”

“You can just set these on the table,” Ignis gestured to the bowls, which he’d just sprinkled with a garnish of sliced green onions. “Prompto should be here any moment.”

Prompto did indeed show up a few minutes later, still in his school uniform. Noct emerged from the bathroom in a billow of steam, hair damp and dressed in black sweats. He grinned at the sight of them all in the kitchen.

“What a cozy little family,” Noct teased, grabbing a seat at the table and making Prompto snicker.

“I daresay more family than most of us usually have the chance to dine with,” Ignis agreed.

“Noct, you need me to do your back?” Gladio asked. Ignis knew it wasn’t really a question.

Noct pulled a face. “After we eat.”

He had to admit, it was gratifying to feed his friends. They seemed to genuinely enjoy the food — even Noctis, who did not touch the salad but ate the entire rice bowl and flashed him a genuine smile and “thank you.”

Besides, it was just nice to sit and relax together. Had they ever done this before? He didn’t think so. It felt like something clicking into place.

It felt _right_.

* * *

Noct decided he could definitely get used to dinners around the table with his three favorite people. As great as living alone was, and as much as being actually alone was head-and-shoulders above being surrounded by people who called you Highness and watched your every move, he definitely needed the company. Real company.

Ignis cleared his throat as they finished up their dinner. “Prompto, wasn’t there something you wanted to . . .”

“Ahahaaaah, yeah,” Prompto said. He swung an arm behind his head. “Uh, so.” He stopped there.

Gladio snorted. “Spit it out, Prompto.”

“Right. Uh,” he fished a folded letter from the pocket of his school blazer and slid it across the table to Noctis. “This.”

He picked it up and unfolded it with a smile. He’d been waiting for Prompto to tell him about the scholarship; he’d seen the picture of it in Prompto’s shared picture drive earlier today. And even though it filled him with a really messed-up selfish sadness, he wasn’t gonna let that show. This was best for Prompto. He’d worked his ass off for it. Noct was thrilled for his friend.

He read the letter: an acceptance into the Crownsguard. Into his personal guard.

He looked at words for a long time, much longer than it took to read it. In his peripheral vision, he could see Prompto tensing up as the moments ticked by, and he scrambled to cobble his disoriented thoughts together. “But . . . U of I. Track. And your scholarship, and your photography. . . “

Ignis and Gladio looked surprised.

And so did Prompto. “How did you . . . what?”

“You took a picture of the scholarship letter,” Noct said, setting the letter down and crossing his arms against the chill that was seeping through him. “It was there this morning, with all your other pictures, in that folder with your camera uploads . . . But I was going to wait for you to, uh. Tell me.”

Prompto laughed nervously, face lighting up patches of bright red. “Yeah, I mean, that was flattering and all.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing over the loosened collar of his school uniform. “But it’s not what I want.”

Noct wanted to shake Prompto and tell him _no_. No, don’t get caught up in my crossfire. Please don’t die for me, and certainly don’t live for me. Go to university and do the things you love and be happy and safe.

_Safe . . ._

Safe like his father wanted him to stay, protected against anything and everything that might hurt him, rather than testing his abilities and seeing what he could do.

He sure as hell knew how much that hurt.

But he had to know, so he forced himself to open his eyes and look at Prompto. “Why?”

And Prompto, gods bless him, seemed to know what he meant. Prompto was always good at that.

“If I can be a part of it? Stand by you, in some way, while you change the world? Then hell yeah, I want in. Even if it’s my life on the line. ‘Cause it’s yours, too. All of you,” he said, nodding to Ignis and Gladio. “And I may not be like, royalty, or crazy smart or crazy strong, but you’re my friend, and I’m here. For you . . . for, uh, for whatever that’s worth.”

Noct felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His approval was clearly the last thing standing between Prompto and a future in the Crownsguard . . . the only thing. The selfish part of him still wanted to say no, and a different selfish part of him wanted to say _yes, oh gods, please stay with me._

But the part of him that was in Prompto’s corner, come hell or high water . . . that part believed in his friend, and knew how much it meant to have someone believe in your ability to do hard, even dangerous things.

“It’s worth a lot,” he said finally, voice thick. “More than you can know.”

At those magic words, the “yes” he knew sealed his friend’s fate, Prompto’s face broke into a grin of golden sunshine. Gladio thumped Prompto on the shoulder with hearty congratulations, and Ignis went to fetch a cake from the fridge.

“So everybody was in on this but me?” Noct asked, shooting a glare at Gladio.

“Blondie here wanted to make sure he got in first, on his own merit or some bullshit like that,” Gladio said.

“As if we’re opposed to nepotism around here,” Ignis said with a sniff.

“'Course you got in,” Noct said, kicking Prompto gently with his good leg. “Who would have doubted it?”

Prompto was blushing, grinning, basking in their congratulations and cake and raised beers. Gladio and Ignis regaled them all with stories from their own training and "helpful" tips that probably scared the pants off Prompto.

Eventually, Gladio pulled Noct over to the couch to run through some stretches.

With his face buried in the cushions, he could close his eyes against images of soldiers laying dead in caskets. He tried to push down the dread he felt for his three friends: one who had already died once because of him, one whose face was a living reminder of his status as a human shield, and one who had thrown away a chance to grow his own talents in order to stay by his side.

“Ignis Scientia,” Ignis said in the kitchen, which meant he was answering the phone. Then, he was silent for a long time. “Do we need to be there?” More silence. “What does that mean for—”

Gladio pushed the back of his wrist just to the right of the base of Noct’s spine and he lost everything else to searing pain for a moment. “Sorry, sorry,” Gladio said; he had probably made some kind of terrible noise.

"S'okay," he gasped, eyes watering.

“Yes, understood,” Ignis was saying. “We’ll be in touch.”

Gladio gave Noct a hand up to sit on the couch, then settled down next to him; Prompto perched on the armrest.

Ignis was gripping the phone with white knuckles as he came to stand in front of the couch.

“A delegation from Niflheim has arrived in Insomnia,” he said, speaking slowly, as if he didn’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. “They say they are here to discuss terms of peace.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for visiting, please exit thru the comments box
> 
> Also, there's an [alternate version of a scene](https://every-lemon.tumblr.com/post/640753097764978688/its-not-a-deleted-scene-its-an-alternate-scene) from this chapter up on Tumblr.


	17. Peaceless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, cool people! ~~I will probably re-proofread this when I am less very tired (words = hard), but I wanted to get it out into the world.~~ Weird grammatical issues have been consigned to the void at the cost of all my MP.

“Terms of peace?” Noct echoed, uncomprehending. The words didn't make any sense.

“That’s what I was told," Ignis said.

“No way. It’s gotta be a trap.” Gladio had stood up and was scanning Noct’s apartment like he expected a threat to materialize from behind the couch. He crossed to the front door and double-checked the deadbolt, then came back to the living room. He didn't sit back down, though. He loomed behind the couch with his arms crossed.

“What if it’s not, though?” Prompto was perched on the arm of the couch, and he’d started bouncing his knee up and down. “Peace is good, right?”

“Depends on the price,” Noct muttered. Then again, the price of war was steep. He thought of a little girl in a black velvet dress who would never know her father.

“For now, we’re to stay here on lockdown until we can be sure there’s no threat to His Highness’s safety,” Ignis said. “Gladio, you and I are on duty here; Prompto, you are not to leave, as we would be unable to guarantee your security. Additional security is convening downstairs to secure the building itself.”

“So . . . sleepover?” Prompto said weakly, and a bit of the tension went out of the room. It was a waiting game, now.

“May as well get cozy,” Gladio nodded, sprawling back down on the couch. “Cards?”

“We’re liable to be interrupted,” Ignis replied.

“Movie, then,” suggested Prompto.

“There’s an excellent documentary about—” Ignis began.

“ _No_ ,” the other three chorused in unison.

Ignis sighed. “ _Robot-Alien Invasion 3_ it is, then.”

They settled in, four on the couch, Noct with his legs thrown up over Gladio’s lap so he could lie down. Before the movie had even started, he'd lost interest, though. He stared at his phone, willing it to vibrate. It didn’t.

Per usual, it was Ignis who had been looped in, and then only to manage him. 

Everyone liked to make noise about him taking on more responsibility, preparing to rule . . . basically, getting ready for his dad to die, though no one ever said it like that. And he’d tried. He was still trying. He didn’t want to let anyone down, but nothing he did ever seemed good enough to earn him any measure of trust.

He guessed he’d broken his Dad’s trust, too. But what if he hadn't taken matters into his own hands by learning to warp? Maybe someone else would have stopped the attempt on his father's life, or maybe the assailant would have missed, or maybe it wouldn’t have been fatal.

Or maybe not.

He couldn't bring himself to think it had been the wrong choice. But he remembered the sword set aside for an able-bodied heir, and it was hard to not draw conclusions about _why_ no one thought him capable. He was an 18-year-old prince limping out of high school with broken magic and a cane at his side.

His thoughts kept running down the same dark streets until Ignis's phone rumbled and he paused the movie.

"I’ve got more information,” Ignis said.

“Help me up, big guy,” muttered Noct to Gladio. He’d been sprawled in this position too long. Gladio obliged, grabbing him beneath his arms and setting him upright like a rag doll.

Ignis cleared his throat. “In the hour before the so-called peace delegation arrived, there was a concentrated attack on the eastern portion of the New Wall. It was magnitudes worse than any attack before it; the Kingsglaive were not aware that so many Imperial troops were even within Lucis. The Wall was deemed in danger of breach when the attackers suddenly fell back. It was then that the delegation arrived, demanding parley.”

Noct’s stomach clenched, wondering how many Glaives had died in the attack. And for the Wall to have nearly been breached . . . it was unthinkable. “So they’re strong-arming us.”

“It would appear so.”

“Have they mentioned terms?” Gladio asked.

Ignis didn’t answer immediately. He drew in a steadying breath. “All Lucian lands outside of Insomnia ceded to the Empire.”

“Is that some kind of joke?” Noct asked. His throat felt tight; heat was crawling up his body, radiating from his racing heart.

Ignis didn’t answer.

“The King wouldn’t agree to it, though, would he?” Prompto asked.

“Might not have much of a choice,” Gladio said, sounding grim.

His hands clenched involuntarily, and Noctis stood up, fingers strangling the top of his cane. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll wake you if your presence is requested,” Ignis said, voice soft, like Noct might pop if he spoke too sharply.

He couldn't help the bitter laugh at that. “I can promise you it won’t be.”

Not worth washing up, he decided, heading straight into the darkness of his room to draw the covers close around him. He was alone and useless while the future of his kingdom — his people — was decided off in a high castle without him.

* * *

The next morning, Gladio walked with Ignis to escort Noctis through a subdued Citadel to the King’s office. The Glaives they passed, especially, looked grim. And who could blame ‘em? Their homes had been promised away in the middle of the night, in a peace treaty that looked more like a surrender. Gladio kept a careful eye out. No telling who might be bitter enough to try something stupid.

Ignis, thankfully, was keeping a close eye on Noct himself. Kid hadn’t actually said anything, but it was clear to anyone who knew him that his pain was bad today. All the tells were there: white knuckles, bad limp, stiff upper body, face carefully shuttered lest any hint of what he was really feeling pass through. Noct joked and faked smiles through his normal levels of pain all the time. On the worst days, though, it was a complete retreat.

Ignis had asked if he wanted the wheelchair, when they'd first arrived, but Noct had just fixed him with a blank stare and kept walking.

Nobody was in a great mood, obviously. He'd slept on the floor of Noct's apartment — none of them had wanted to disturb His Moodiness to tell him to shove over in bed — and though he'd never admit it, he had a crick in his neck.

His dad was in the King's office, as well, and Gladio would have bet good money neither man had slept; his dad's eyes were bleary and his stubble too long.

"Prince Noctis. Ignis. Gladio." The King did not acknowledge their bows or ask them to sit. This would be quick, then. "Part of the terms of this agreement include a provision that Prince Noctis be granted safe passage to seek healing in Tenebrae. You will leave in three weeks and be safely there before the treaty is signed in six."

Gladio only heard the sharp intake of Noct's breath because he was standing just behind his left shoulder.

"For how long?" Noct said. First words he'd said all day.

"Queen Sylva estimates that within a month, she will have done whatever she can. You have leave to stay beyond that if you judge it beneficial."

"Your Majesty, can His Highness be gone so long?" Ignis asked, and Gladio thought it was a good question. Noct had been the de facto representative of the King outside the Citadel walls for months.

"When the treaty is signed, I will no longer have the Wall to sustain," the King said, and Ignis nodded in acknowledgment; without the Wall weighing on the King, he'd probably have a great deal more energy for the everyday business of ruling a country. Or a city, Gladio supposed. "Clarus would like to speak with you all about travel arrangements, as they are of his design." The way he said it sounded like it hadn't been his first choice. "You may go."

They all bowed at that finality, and Gladio had to dodge out of the way of Noct striding straight past him.

"This way," his dad said, and ushered them all into a less formal sitting room across the hall that held two couches with a coffee table between them. He waited until they’d all passed through, then closed the door and sank into one, looking grateful for it.

Gladio and the others followed suit. He heard Noct's sharp intake of breath again as he sat; he'd probably have to help the kid up off the low settee when this was over.

“Lord Amicitia,” Noct said, inclining his head slightly towards Clarus. 

“Your Highness. Gladio, Ignis. I am sure I don’t have to tell you this is a fraught situation.”

“You holding up okay?” Gladio couldn’t help but ask.

His dad rewarded him with a faint smile. “After this, I think I shall be able to get a short rest in, so I'll make it brief.” He leaned forwards, tenting his fingers beneath his chin. “His Majesty wished to send you three to Tenebrae with a sizable escort of Kingslglaive. I was able to persuade him that the Prince and his retinue would be considerably better served traveling with less fanfare. Four people can travel unnoticed much more easily than a batallion.”

Ignis was nodding. “Drawing less attention — and less ire — I presume?”

“Exactly,” Clarus said. “I also believe that the sight of the Prince traveling with military protection through the parts of Lucis about to fall under the Empire’s control would be an . . . unfortunate image. The Crown Prince of Lucis should not have to fear his people.”

Noct was silent a moment. “You said four people.”

“Yes,” Clarus said. “I know that Prompto Argentum is set to begin training for your guard. His Majesty has requested that Marshal Leonis get him as trained as possible within the next three weeks, which should suffice for his own protection.” He looked at Noctis. “Your father was insistent that you have friends you could rely on at your side.”

Noct led out a shuddering breath and looked down, not meeting his gaze.

“Gladio, would you stay behind a moment?” his father asked. Ignis stood and turned to Noct, who flicked a coin in the air and caught it with a warp to stand. Smart. Berytius had been showing him all kinds of new tricks now that he could finally lend Noct a hand with his warp training.

“Thank you, Lord Amicitia,” Ignis said. “Gladio, we’ll wait for you below.”

Gladio nodded. As long as this peace treaty was up in the air, he wouldn’t be leaving Noct’s side for any longer than he could help.

Once Noct and Ignis were gone, his dad began pacing, a muscle in his neck jumping, his eyes narrow.

“Gladiolus,” he finally said, turning and placing both hands on Gladio’s shoulders. It was something he’d done as part of his Shield ceremony, and it felt like an invocation of that duty. “You must ensure that the Prince and his retinue are prepared to defend themselves outside the city walls. I hope your trip will be without incident, but this is important. There’s no telling what may happen.”

Gladio stood tall. “I’ll make sure of it.”

His father squeezed his shoulders. “I know you will.”

* * *

Prompto had been running through the basics of combat with the other new recruits for two weeks — long enough for his muscles to be permanently cramped and aching. Long enough that he knew what he was supposed to be doing with his body, but not long enough that he could actually do it without thinking. Also, long enough to be stupidly grateful that he wasn’t going through this _entire_ training, where he was universally regarded as the Prince's pal who was getting an unfair leg up — which, he got it. He _was_ that.

He was also really, really glad for his track training. The other recruits struggled through the long training runs, while he got to save that energy for sparring, where he was decidedly on the other end of the bell curve.

Marshal Leonis (no big, just Cor the Immortal, casually, as you do) had begun pulling him out for additional training sessions on top of all that, too. He’d noticed Prompto’s biggest strength — speed — and also been the one to try him out on the shooting range. Which: bingo. Everything had clicked into place once he’d gotten a gun in his hands.

Once he got the hang of shooting stationary targets, the Marshal had him switch to moving ones. Then, he had to avoid the Marshal’s blows (though he had set himself on easy mode) while taking down the targets.

“Marshal,” he ventured after he’d just put bullet holes through the heads of three shadowy silhouettes. “Have you seen much outside the Crown City?”

The Marshal grunted. Prompto was pretty sure he’d been all over Eos.

“Noc— Prince Noctis mentioned you traveled with his father, to Keycatrich once, right? My parents are from there,” he lied. Which was probably not something you should do to the Cor the Immortal — but Ignis had asked him to find this out.

“I can’t say we did,” the Marshal said, then repositioned his shoulders and changed the subject. “The Prince is right-handed, so if you’re fighting back-to-back with him, you’ll want to be sure to angle this way.”

“Is that . . . likely?” Prompto asked, feeling a little light-headed. The Marshal snorted, probably wondering what he’d thought he’d been doing in combat training.

“His Highness is highly adept at ranged magic. In the event of a conflict, you will likely hang back to provide him cover,” the Marshal said.

The idea of that gave him a kind of confidence. Sure, he still tripped over his feet more often than was strictly necessary, but he was starting to feel like he stood a bit of a chance at being useful. He could hang back out of the way of whatever might attack them (he pictured something out of _Robot-Alien Invasion 3_ ) and shoot at things.

He felt that way until he actually trained with the other three.

Gladio, he’d always known was a wall of muscle and strength that could probably chop him in half with a single finger. Ignis was just competent in every area of life. And Noct had magic; he’d seen him warping through the night sky on a camping trip often enough to know that his injury wouldn’t keep him from being a force of nature.

However, he’d never seen all of them work together, and that was the truly intimidating part. At one point, Gladio literally flung Noct up into the air while Ignis shouted, “On my mark!” and sent three separate blades flying into various marks around the room, which Noct then warped to individually.

And that was before Noct obliterated several targets with what had looked like a bolt of lightning.

They were pretty nice about his uselessness, though. They tried a thing where Prompto literally ran up on top of Gladio’s arm to shoot (Noct’s idea) — who knew when _that_ would be useful, but it sure looked cool. At one point, when the recoil of his gun sent him stumbling back, Noct caught him before he could land on his ass. So maybe the teamwork would come.

Part of him wanted it to happen, and part of him hoped it wouldn't be all that necessary.

* * *

Noct watched as Berytius flung himself off the second-floor observation balcony of the training room.

At the last second before impact, he flickered out of existence and then came to land next to Noctis, holding his throwing knife.

“So the trick is,” he said, not even sounding out of breath, “to get the timing right. Too early and you’ll get jarred after the warp; too late and you’ll smack the ground.”

“Cool,” Noct said, grinning.

“Got your brace on? You’ll probably do a lot of jarring, but most people only hit the ground once.”

“Yep."

“Have at it, then,” Berytius said, nodding up to the balcony. “Trial and error’s kind of the best method here.”

Noct focused and flung his own knife up into the balcony, then warped after it. Berytius was pushing him to warp more and more often, to build up his reserves and last longer before stasis kicked in. He'd been driving Ignis crazy by warping all around the apartment while his adviser tried to make dinner.

He vaulted over the balcony with one arm and a lot of upper body strength, and then he was hurtling towards the ground.

He threw the knife almost instantly, of course, and ended up materializing in the air with a good five-foot drop that he landed on his good foot, but it sent lightning bolts of pain racing up from his back. He warped back to the top without waiting.

The next time was about the same. The time after that was worse: he threw the knife at an upward angle and actually had time to warp out of the fall before he hit the ground. The third time, he got pretty close, just a couple feet off the ground.

The fourth time, he hit the ground.

He definitely screamed. Berytius had been waiting with a potion, though, and he administered it immediately. It couldn’t fix the permanent damage to Noct’s leg — and curatives didn’t seem to have any impact on the chronic pain that spiked through regular wear-and-tear — but it knit the fresh damage back together well enough, leaving him gasping with teary eyes at the memory of acute pain.

“Alright, kiddo,” Berytius said, the crows’ feet around his eyes bunching into proud crinkles. “You did good. We’ll go again tomorrow.”

Noct bit back his protest and let Berytius help him off the ground.

* * *

The night before they left, after they wrapped up their final training session, Noct's friends came up to help him pack up some things from his old room at the Citadel. He would only be gone two months, but considering _who_ they were visiting, he supposed it made sense that he needed a ridiculous assortment of formalwear. (Or at least, Ignis thought he did. Ignis tended to be right about these things.)

“So what do we know?” Gladio asked, holding up a pair of shoes and packing them when Ignis nodded.

“The Marshal said they never went to Keycatrich,” Prompto said.

“That should be a safe place to look, then,” Gladio said. “And it’s on the way.”

“We’d best be sure we can actually handle it,” Ignis said. “Perhaps on the way back would be better, though. Once Noct has been healed.”

“We don’t know that it’s going to work,” said Noct, defensively. He refused to get his hopes up. He had the definite sense that everyone else was getting their hopes up, which was even worse.

“Well, it’s an option,” Gladio said. “We can at least scope it out.”

“What do you think it’s like out there?” Prompto asked, voice dreamy, as he folded a pile of shirts Ignis had indicated. He was surprisingly good at it; Noct himself had been banned from folding.

"Big," he said, earning one of Prompto’s elbows in the side. He stuck his tongue out.

“Contact has come at gone at different levels since the Wall was scaled back by King Mors as a result of the Great War,” Ignis said, obviously more helpful. “In the past several years, it’s been harder to get in and out of the city. Technology and culture have gone on at different paces throughout the land.”

“I’ve heard you can really see the stars out there,” Gladio said.

“We’ll stop at Hammerhead, right, Iggy?” Noct asked. He thought of the little diner, and his dad’s friend, and Cindy.

“Yes. In fact, His Majesty has requested it.”

"He go over the whole itinerary with you?"

"Yes. And," he said, looking up from his phone, "he's also just informed me he'd like to see you in his office."

"Oh." That was new. "Now?"

In answer, Ignis held out a hand to help Noct up off the bed.

"You can't leave us here with all this!" Prompto whined, flopping back onto the bed Noct had just vacated.

"Can and will," Noct corrected with a smirk, but his heart had started racing. He hadn't _really_ spoken to his father since the disastrous evening of the assassination attempt. It had all been chilly and formal, when he had.

When they reached the office, Ignis waited outside while Noct walked in.

"Ah, Noctis," his father said. He was leaning against his desk. "Thank you for coming."

"Sure," he said, not sure if he should stay standing or sit down or what. And he didn't know what to do with his hands, either, so he settled for shoving his free hand in his pocket.

But his dad had turned, and he was fetching something from the desk behind him: a sword with no scabbard, for no owner of its line would never need one.

“This is for you, Noctis,” he said.

Noct reached out and took the hilt, above the twisting mass of mechanical components. The weapon of his dreams, literally. He held it up to the light, admiring the design and the wicked sharpness of the blade, then vanished it into the armiger.

It was two years too late to signify his father’s approval.

“Didn’t hold onto the card, huh?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Regis didn’t flinch — he was too practiced at schooling his expressions for that — but Noct caught the subtle widening of his eyes. The King opened the desk drawer, rifled for a moment, and slid the sealed envelope with his name on it across the desk.

Noct summoned a throwing knife to nick off the wax seal, then opened the handwritten card on heavy parchment.

> _My dear Noctis,_
> 
> _It is tradition for the heir to the throne to receive his glaive on the occasion of his 16th birthday. While it is hard for me to believe you will hit such a milestone so soon, I want you to know that I am so very proud of the young man you are becoming._
> 
> _I pray this weapon will keep you safe amidst any danger and will always remind you of my love and trust. I know you will do great things._
> 
> _Always walk tall, my son. The line of Lucis rests on your shoulders._
> 
> _Your loving father,_  
>  _Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII_

He set the letter face-up on the desk. “You were right to leave it off,” he said. “Doesn’t fit.”

“Noctis,” his father said. He sounded pained. _Good_.

He was already coming up from the formal bow he’d swept into. “Your Majesty,” he said, voice blank, and left the room.

* * *

They were down in the Citadel’s plaza, packing their bags into the Regalia. Noct was kind of shocked this was the car they were taking, but he couldn’t deny being pleased. It reminded him of better times with his dad. The engine purred as they Tetris-ed their luggage into the back.

That strange dream he’d before waking from a coma had ended here, after he’d taken down a giant daemon with the Engine Blade now tucked within his armiger. And the Regalia had come to take him back home. He guessed it was the opposite, now.

“Noctis!”

The King was hobbling down the Citadel steps toward him, and before he could remember to be aloof, he was climbing up to meet him. It wasn't like making the King of Lucis limp down stairs would have been satisfying, anyway; he might as well limp up to meet him.

He put a steadying hand out, but his dad waved him off. “Noctis. I fear I have left too much unsaid,” the King said, searching his gaze. He reached out and set his free hand on Noct’s shoulder; it was strong and warm, despite the new lines Noctis could see etched into his forehead and between his brows. “Take care on the long road.”

He wanted to bridge the gap between him and his father, but he didn’t know how. It occurred to him that maybe his father didn’t, either.

“You take care here. And . . . thank you for the sword,” he said, because he hadn’t before. “I dreamed about it, you know. When I was in a coma. That it helped me to fight.”

His father squeezed his shoulder. “I know it will.”

“Maybe I’ll have some stories to tell when I come home,” Noct said, edging towards the car. Prompto was waving up at them.

“When you come home,” his father echoed, the ghost of a smile on his face.

It was a start. They could pick up here when he came home, and the Wall wasn't weighing on his father, and the war wasn't pounding outside their gates. Noct flashed him a grin and warped back down towards the car — he was itching to get out on the road, into what might be the only months of freedom from the city he'd ever have.

His father waved down to them all, and Ignis and Gladio obviously got out and bowed up at him, and then Prompto, too, half a minute too late.

“Let’s GO!” Noct whooped, sliding into the back seat.

“Woah, you’re not claiming shotgun, Noct?” Prompto said as he got into the passenger seat.

“Nah, I’ll leave it to our actual shotgun,” he said. “Besides, easier to sleep back here.”

Ignis snorted. “And I’ll have someone to talk to, since Noct will indeed fall asleep within ten minutes of our departure.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

“Dude, that makes no sense,” Prompto said. “Gladio, pass me the snacks?”

“What makes you think I got the snacks?” Gladio asked, arching an eyebrow.

“They’re in the glove compartment, Prompto,” Ignis said, motioning as he pulled away from the curb and started up the music.

“Ignis, this is just dried fruit,” Prompto said, fishing out bags of dried apricots and boxes of raisins.

“And?” Ignis asked, clearly affronted, and they hadn't even hit a stoplight yet.

“Dude, we’re definitely stopping for actual road-trip snacks at the first gas station we see."

“I see no reason why being in an automobile should require over-processed, over-salted snacks,” Ignis sniffed.

“I’m with Blondie on this one,” Gladio said, cracking open his book.

Noct leaned back in his seat, grinning till his face hurt. He was on his way to see Luna, and Tenebrae, and Lucis, and the land outside the Wall. Most importantly, with his friends by his side, he was ready for whatever adventure lay ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Shhh, they don't know, don't tell them!) Thanks for letting me throw the timeline in a blender :D 18-year-old Noctis had to be sassier than 20-year-old Noctis, but I also feel like he'd flinch first? Yell at me if you disagree.
> 
> Are you all ready for the rooooooad trip?! Cause even an imaginary road trip sounds pretty great right now to me personally.


	18. Off-Roading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting the _longest chapter ever_ , because I was having way too much fun to stop. And Prompto talks a lot.

“I’m gonna be the first one out of Insomnia!” Prompto called, leaning forward and thrusting a hand to the front of the windshield. This meant his fingertips were the first part of anyone’s body to pass the faded _Welcome to Leide!_ sign posted at the end of the bridge outside the city.

No one said they were impressed, and Ignis rolled his eyes, but Prompto wasn’t gonna let the haters get him down.

Traffic out of the city was pretty sparse. Going the other way was another story: it was backed up and barely moving. Every car going in was being stopped at the checkpoint. Lots of people were trying to get into the city as refugees before the treaty was signed in a few short weeks — or else they were Insomnian residents getting back in town before it got a lot harder.

Prompto tried not to think about it. Noct had his chin in his hand and was staring out the window _definitely_ thinking about it.

But then they peeled away from the bridge, and it was pretty much immediate: blue sky, shrubs studding the dusty landscape, mountains in the distance, sunshine everywhere and no Citadel looming over them.

So this was the open road. It was beautiful.

Ignis turned up the radio and pressed a button, and the top of the Regalia folded back to bathe them in sunshine and wind. All of them were feeling it, even Ignis and Gladio, though they pretended the couple years they had on Noct and Prompto constituted an eternity of adult experience. But Gladio put his book down and Ignis started tapping his fingers in time to the music.

“Iggy, you gonna let Prompto drive once we get outta the city?” Noct asked, leaning forward to tap Ignis on the elbow.

“Hmm,” Ignis said, and stopped there.

“Hey, I’m a great driver!” Prompto protested.

“I didn’t say anything to the contrary, Prompto.”

“You were thinking it,” he accused. “And I’m definitely better than Noct.”

“Not my fault I gotta use my left foot,” Noct said.

“Pretty sure that’s not why you ran over that stop sign,” Gladio pointed out.

“I run over one sign, one time, and everyone loses their minds,” Noct muttered.

“OH OH OH!” Prompto yelled and flailed to point out the window; Ignis yelped and the car swerved. “Look! An anak!” It wasn’t close, but that long neck stood out on the flat landscape. He fumbled for his camera and took several terrible, blurry photos from the moving vehicle. 

“Huh,” said Gladio, leaning over Noct to stare, too. “Never seen one outside the zoo before.”

“Less shouting next time you sight the local wildlife please, Prompto,” Ignis said through clenched teeth.

“Cheer up, Specs,” Noct said from the backseat, tapping the adviser’s arm with a can of Ebony. “If we crash, the rest of us will have to admit it was worth bringing all those car repair kits along.”

Ignis shot him a look but accepted the drink offering. “ _If we crash,_ you lot are pushing the car all the way to Hammerhead.”

Thankfully, they did not crash on the way to Hammerhead.

They pulled into the stop — the most civilization they’d seen since leaving the city, and it was really just a few buildings clustered together — and everyone piled out of the car, groaning and shaking their stiff legs. Prompto hung back by Noct, who had to lean against the gas pump for a few minutes before he could really get moving again.

They were still loitering when an old dude in a baseball cap, red leather jacket, and polo shirt with the collar popped like _woah_ walked up to them with a scowl on his face.

“You lot sure are traveling incognito,” he rasped with a voice that sounded like the product of inhaling exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke for literal centuries. “Definitely wouldn’t take any of ya for royalty in that getup.”

“Good to see you again, too, Cid,” Noct mumbled.

Prompto considered how they’d look to the outside eye. They were mostly in a mix of jeans, t-shirts, and jackets. Noct definitely looked the least respectable of all of them, with his hair squashed down by a battered old hat and a puffer vest over his gray hoodie. Anyone with an eye for it could probably tell his jeans and athletic sneakers had cost an absurd amount of money, though. He’d also left the cane in the armiger for now; it kinda spoiled the incognito effect, Prompto supposed.

“Now, I got two real interesting phone calls this morning. One from old Reggie” — Cid jabbed a finger towards Noct — “askin’ me to look after his son and his friends for ‘im, lend a hand if they need it.”

Noct grunted. He really couldn’t stand his dad’s overprotective streak.

“But then I got another call from Clarrie” — he jabbed his thumb towards Gladio, and Gladio grinned with uninhibited delight at that little nickname — “askin’ me if I can’t help his son and his friends get a little hands-on combat experience. An’ I won’t give you two guesses who I plan on obligin’. So, I’m gonna take a look at this beauty while y’all find a way to make yerselves useful.”

“Paw-paw!” called the most beautiful woman Prompto had ever laid eyes on, with short, sandy hair squashed beneath a rust-red and yellow hat. She was wiping greasy hands on work coveralls and grinning at them all. A smudge of something dark lingered on her cheek. “Pretty sure these fellows need to eat before you put ‘em to work.”

“Well, take ‘em by Takka’s, then,” Cid grumbled. “I’m givin’ this girl a tune-up.” He held out his hand for the keys, and Ignis handed them over.

The woman — angel? goddess? — led them into a greasy spoon diner that smelled like deep-fried heaven.

“Almost didn’t recognize y’all,” she said, leaning across the counter and raising her hand in greeting to the cook, who nodded back and immediately started dumping fries into baskets for them. Prompto’s stomach might have growled audibly. “Who’re your friends?”

“Cindy, this is Prompto,” Noct said, indicating him, and Cindy smiled at him and his heart stopped dead forever and he was a ghost now, “and this is Gladio.”

She grinned at Gladio even wider, because of course she did. “Nice to meet y’all.”

“Cid mentioned you had a job we could do,” Ignis said.

“Mmmhmm. There’s a pack o’ reapertails that’s been causin’ trouble for the locals. Shouldn’t be too tough for y’all, though.”

“Sure,” Noct said. “Just tell us where.”

“Y’all got a map?” Cindy asked.

Ignis slid their map over to her (taking the seat next to her in the process) and she made a few marks.

“Should be roundabouts,” she said, tapping the X she’d drawn with her finger. “There’s a bounty out on ‘em, so talk to Takka once you’ve taken care of ‘em, and he’ll get ya yer gil.”

“Thank you, Cindy,” Ignis said. “It will be good to test our skills.”

“It’ll be good for us to have the job done,” Cindy said, crossing her arms and looking out the window. “I don’t have to tell y’all it’s been restless out here. Things have calmed down a bit with the treaty, but no one’s real certain what it’ll look like once we’re part of the Empire. And the daemons sure ain’t helpin’ business.”

“We’ll do whatever we can while we’re here,” Gladio said, nodding seriously.

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed, voice breaking halfway through the syllable, but thankfully Takka was handing out hamburgers at that point so no one seemed to notice — shit, except Noct, who was beside him trying not to laugh.

“You didn’t tell me what to expect here buddy,” Prompto hissed into his ear at Noct as Ignis and Gladio continued to review the map with Cindy.

“What? I didn’t know you’d be smitten.”

“Uh, pretty sure anyone would be, buddy.”

Noct snorted and fished lettuce off his burger. “I met her once, four years ago, right before almost dying and being in a coma for a month.”

“Save your excuses,” Prompto sniffed.

After they finished the food, they piled their baskets high and waved good-bye to Takka, who nodded nervously. Cindy headed back to the shop, but the four of them stopped outside the caravan to make a plan. Or to hear Ignis’s plan.

“It’s about a mile out,” Ignis said, sounding doubtful as he surveyed the map. “And the terrain isn’t flat.”

“It’s fine,” Noct said. “I’ll just warp a bit out, then wait for you guys to catch up.”

“What, and hit stasis before we even start fighting?” Gladio said.

“I’ll take it slow. C’mon, let’s go,” Noct said, clearly out of patience. He grabbed his cane from thin air, pushed off the side of the caravan he’d been leaning on, and strode off with the regal air of a man who knew he’d be followed.

Ignis sighed, adjusting his glasses. “It’s the other way, Highness.”

—

Prompto thought the whole warping-as-walking thing worked pretty well at first. Noct would fling a knife out, warp to it, and wait for them to pass him by a bit before going again.

It looked pretty cool, too, right up until the moment Noct warped face-first into one of the scrubby little trees with a cracking noise that was definitely the whole entire tree breaking in half.

“Noct!” Ignis yelled, and Gladio swore under his breath. Prompto, though, was sprinting, and he was the fastest, so he reached Noct first.

He was laying on his back, staring up at the sky and looking dazed. A trickle of blood ran down from his nose.

“You okay there, buddy?” Prompto asked, looking for anything else bleeding. Noct’s face was scratched up, but he didn’t seem mortally wounded.

“I have leaves in my mouf,” Noct said mournfully, spitting out something green, wiping the blood from under his nose, and holding a gloved hand out so Prompto could pull him to sitting. He winced in pain on the way up. “Ow. Ow. Owww.”

“You’re doing better than the tree, dude,” Prompto snickered, now that it was apparent Noct had not killed himself mere hours into their trip.

“Noct, are you alright?” Ignis asked, sliding onto his knees beside Noct.

“Uh,” Noct said, and he kind of wobbled while sitting until Ignis reached out to steady him with a grip on his arm. “Dizzy.”

Ignis clicked his flashlight on and flashed it in Noct’s eyes. “You might have a concussion,” he snapped. “We’ll have to stay put for a bit.”

“M’fine,” Noct protested weakly, but his heart was clearly not in it. “I’ll be fine. Just gimme . . . minutes.”

Gladio snorted. “This is going so well.”

“Might as well take a break, huh?” Prompto said, sprawling out on the ground, too.

Ignis kind of sagged down next to him, and Gladio rummaged in the pockets of his green leather jacket for a granola bar. Now that they were quiet, Prompto could hear birds chirping and bugs buzzing in the grass. It was nice, but . . . he wondered how they were gonna get anywhere like this. He didn’t want to be the one to say it, but he was pretty sure they were all thinking it.

But then, inspiration hit, and he sat bolt upright. “Guys. I have the best idea I have ever had.”

Everyone was looking at him as if he did not have the best idea he had ever had. (Or, possibly, that even if he did, that the statement might not mean much.)

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be back in 15 minutes.”

Ignis was calling something after him, but he ignored it and sprinted off back towards Hammerhead.

Fifteen minutes later, when he busted back through the shrubbery to the tune of the four-wheeler ATV’s roaring motor, he took a mental snapshot of the look on everyone’s faces.

Ignis’s mouth had snapped into a straight line and his eyes were wide with surprise.

Gladio looked impressed, like he wished he’d been the one to think of it.

And Noct looked like a kid who’s just been told he sure _can_ have that puppy, with his face lit up in sheer delight.

“Look what I fouuuuund!” Prompto sing-songed, hopping off and gesturing to the borrowed vehicle.

“Mo-ther fu-cker,” Noct breathed in awe. He held out a hand to Gladio, who ignored it and reached beneath his arms to set his entire body upright. Noct, in turn, ignored Gladio. “And you can drive it, too.”

“It’s pretty much like that delivery moped from the pizza place, just fifty billion times more badass. But we should definitely get a motorcycle, dirtbikes, or —”

“And how did you acquire this?” Ignis asked, sounding faint.

“Cindy lent her to us,” Prompto said with pride, then whispered, “I spoke to her.”

“Well, good job, on both counts, Prompto,” Noct said, motioning for him to get back on the ATV. When he obliged, Noct climbed on behind him. “Let’s get this show on the road. For real this time.”

“What about us?” Gladio asked, folding his arms.

“We’ll see you there,” Noct smirked behind him, and that was all the cue Prompto needed to rev off and leave Gladio and Ignis in a cloud of dust as Noct clung to him for dear life, whooping and laughing like a maniac.

* * *

In retrospect, Prompto realized it was pretty stupid.

But _in their defense_ , the fact that they crashed straight through the nest of reapertails did mean that they took out at least two before they even managed to clamber off the ATV, so it wasn’t a totally botched job.

Of course, that also left them in the middle of the nest of reapertails.

Noct immediately warped out, which Prompto dimly recognized as completely unfair as he shot at things that were way too close to be shooting at — but then Noct warped back in and straight-up impaled the creature with its jaws around Prompto’s leg, and he was okay with it.

“Do we have a strategy here?!” Prompto called, his voice weirdly high-pitched in his ears, trying desperately to back up and shoot at things. Ignis had outlined a strategy that involved Prompto and Noct, the ranged fighters, hanging back at a distance.

“Don’t die till the big kids get here,” Noct supplied unhelpfully. 

“No, I can die, but if you die they are gonna kill me,” Prompto clarified. _Crownsguard. Crownsguard. Pull it together, Crownsguard._ He just couldn’t get far back enough, and Noct was gonna get tired fast at the rate he was phasing through stinging tails and swiping claws and other icky bits of giant insect.

“Okay, on three, run away,” Noct called. “To that rock.”

He was going to ask which rock, but then Noct yelled “THREE” without preamble and Prompto scrambled in the clearest direction, towards one of the many boulders surrounding them.

For his part, Noct warped up, then out, and then hit the clump of reapertails now surging after Prompto with a blast of fire magic.

Prompto made it to the boulder and scrambled up, then fired at the few remaining reapertails that had survived that blast, and which were now on fire.

And setting the dry grass on fire.

“Noct Noct _Noct_ , everything is on fire—”

“On it!” he heard a voice yell back from somewhere, and then a blast of icy wind hit him in the face and whited everything out.

When he had managed to pry his frozen-shut eyelids back open, the singed prairie grasses were covered in frost, Noct’s face was covered in soot and it looked as though he’d singed his eyebrows, and Ignis and Gladio had just come crashing through the clearing to stare at them in utter horror.

For a moment, no one said anything.

“Uh. That was our bad,” Prompto said, holding his hands out in supplication.

Noct, meanwhile, threw his head back and started laughing.

And that was the exact moment Prompto realized that, free from the constraints of familial obligations, royal duty, and the crushing pressure of living up to everyone else’s expectations, his best friend was _absolutely batshit crazy._

Once they made it back to Hammerhead and collected the bounty — which was lucky, because apparently no one had bothered to tell them people used a completely different currency out here — it also became apparent that Noct was, in fact, also _somewhat concussed._ He kept alternating between being weirdly giddy and then spacing out for long periods of time. He'd ask how many days left until they got to Luna’s, and then forget and ask again five minutes later.

Ignis rented out the caravan. Prompto went to fetch chili from Takka’s for dinner, and when he brought the paper bag with their order back, everyone was chilling around the camp table outside the caravan, and Noct was insisting that he never woulda hit that tree, except the wind blew his knife off course.

As they ate, Ignis did a lot of tsk-ing and examining Noct’s eyes and prodding him to stay awake. When Noct let his head droop to his chest one too many times, Gladio picked up the entire chair he was sitting in and brought him inside to go through the whole stretching-and-massage torture routine. It sounded painful even from outside the caravan. It was definitely keeping Noct awake, though.

“So,” Prompto said, trying to fill the silence that otherwise consisted of the sound of Noct yelping inside, “guess today didn’t really go to plan.”

“Hm, perhaps, but it had its takeaways,” Ignis said, pausing to take a bite of chili. “You hit upon a method of transportation for future field journeys, we can now be confident that you and Noct can take on a pile of low-level fiends by yourself, and we learned something very important about Noctis.”

“That he’s a reckless idiot?”

“Precisely,” Ignis said, taking another bite. Then, he frowned at the cup of chili and pulled a notebook out of his pocket, making a few notes. “I daresay I could make this at camp.”

“Sounds great,” Prompto said, standing up and stretching out. Ignis sometimes surprised him — the man would have an conniption fit over a loose button on Noct’s blazer, but he took the weirdest stuff in stride. “We leaving tomorrow?”

“I believe Cid isn’t quite finished servicing the Regalia, and he has a few more hunts we can take on tomorrow,” Ignis said. “I must admit, I find the idea of getting some more field experience appealing. Especially since you and Noct stole the show earlier.” The corner of his mouth quirked up.

Prompto groaned. “We’re never gonna live it down, are we?”

“At least you lived,” Ignis pointed out.

* * *

The next morning, Prompto sneaked out of the caravan as soon as he noticed the light changing through the thin curtains over the window. He sat on the stoop, watching the sky change from star-speckled, dusty blue to deep purple with streaks of orange and gold and yellow. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen, and he filled his camera with shots that were good, but didn’t really capture the feeling of being there. Of drinking it in.

He liked living in a city, but he could definitely see the appeal of seeing sights like this on the regular.

The camper door swung open to reveal Ignis, already washed up and ready for the day. “Morning, Prompto,” he said. “You’re up early.”

“Wanted to see the sunrise,” he said. “It’s pretty incredible.”

They stared out at it for a while, until Ignis shook himself and motioned towards the garage. “I’m going to inquire about the status of our vehicle,” he said. “Care to join?”

“Oh! Uh, sure, just lemme throw my clothes on.” He was suddenly acutely aware of his chocobo boxers and baggy track t-shirt.

Inside, Gladio was sitting on the little bed reading a book. He raised a lazy hand to Prompto, who nodded back. He grabbed his clothes out of his pack and yanked them on as fast as humanly possible. Not that Gladio was paying any attention, and Noct was probably gonna be asleep for . . . shoot, who knew. Probably until Ignis woke him up in however many minutes or hours or days he decided was enough.

The daylight was already blinding when he came back out of the caravan. The air smelled so different than in the city, like sunlight on grass. He jogged up to Ignis, who was reading the bulletin board posted outside the diner.

"Anything interesting?" Prompto asked.

"These hunts seem to be a combination of unusually aggressive wildlife and daemonic creatures," Ignis said, tapping his chin. "I wonder if there's a connection."

"Kind of seems like everything outside the city's gotten bleaker lately. That’s what Cindy said, too.”

"Yes, you’re right." Ignis pulled himself away from the board, shooing away a cloud of gnats. "Shall we?"

They found Cid underneath the Regalia.

"Y'all got lucky," he said without preamble, rolling out from underneath the car as they approached. "No tellin' when that belt woulda gone out on you. Coulda been yesterday, or maybe held out another couple years and then stranded you on the highway," he said. "Damn Crown City mechanics can't do preventative maintenance worth a —”

"Am I to understand we are now talking about much more than a simple tune-up?" Ignis interrupted, but it was so polite it probably didn't count.

"S’right," Cid said. "I'll get it replaced for y'all as quick as I can, but she's not going anywhere today," he said with a fond thump on the hood. Prompto got the impression he was pleased about that.

"Very well," sighed Ignis. "We leave her in your capable hands."

Prompto helped Ignis pick up a few things from the convenience shop, and by the time they got back to the caravan, Gladio had somehow gotten Noct up; they were both sitting outside the camper, dressed and eating. 

Noct looked rough. Pale and tired. He waved off Ignis's hovering with annoyance, and shoved off the hand Gladio used to check his back, and glared at Prompto like he was waiting for him to dare ask if he was okay, but Prompto just stuck his tongue out. Noct actually laughed before lapsing back into broody silence, so all wasn’t lost.

“It seems we’ll be here another day,” Ignis said. “Cid is repairing an issue he found with the Regalia.”

"Let's go ask Takka about those jobs had mentioned, then," Noct said. "Might as well be useful if we're stuck here."

Everyone made eye contact behind Noct's back as he walked towards the diner. He was using a cane today, apparently having decided being able to walk was more important than possibly being recognized. Ignis sighed, Gladio shrugged, and they all followed after Noct.

“Hey, Takka!" Gladio boomed when they entered. "Got anymore hunts we could tackle?”

“Oh! Uh, it’s you lot. Well, honestly, what I could really use is some Lucian tomatoes.”

“Did my father put you up to this?” Noct mumbled, but not loud enough for Takka to hear him.

“Certainly,” Ignis replied, pinning Noct with a withering glance. “Just show us where to find them.” He slid the map towards Takka, who marked the spot for them and began describing the produce in loving detail.

They begged the ATV off Cindy again, but this time Gladio drove (because of course he could drive one of these but not an actual car), and he drove slow enough that Prompto and Ignis could jog alongside.

"Real nice out here," Gladio remarked as they rumbled through the grass.

"Indeed, it's a nice change of — oh, I daresay these are the tomatoes."

Noctis sighed. Prompto didn’t, but he was pretty on board with the sentiment. Ignis was still picking the tomatoes when Noct's phone rang.

"Hello? Hey Cindy . . . Old shack? Oh, yeah. We’ll take a look." Noct hung up and stashed the phone back in his puffer vest. "Cindy says there's a hunter named Dave who headed out towards one of those shacks we saw yesterday, but he hasn't come back yet. Asked us to check it out."

“I call driving!” Prompto said, hopping back on the ATV. He really loved that thing.

Gladio snorted. “Guess Princess gets to take a load off.”

“Really?” Noct said, but he sounded amused. “You’re gonna give me shit the literal one time it’s easier for me?”

“Yep,” Gladio said, smacking him lightly upside the head.

Prompto was reminded that it hadn’t been too long ago that Gladio and Noct had been at each other’s throats for real. Weirdly, it had kind of looked the same, just . . . not a joke.

“Well, let’s go hunt down our Hunter,” Ignis quipped.

When they made it back by the shacks they’d seen yesterday, Prompto and Noct hopped off the ATV.

“I think she meant this one,” Noct said, gesturing to a sad gray structure with falling-apart slats and weeds creeping up through the cracks.  
  
“These are straight-up creepy,” Prompto said, wishing his vest had sleeves to ward off the sudden chill that ran up his arms. Literal abandoned shacks. “It’s like a horror movie setting.”

“The blonde always dies worst in a horror movie,” Gladio said very seriously.

“I hate you,” Prompto said very seriously.

They followed Noct and Ignis into the shack, which was empty. Noct crossed the room and picked up a sheet of paper resting on a creepy rusted metal cart that looked like it should hold a tray of torture implements. “Looks like a hunt notice for some kind of mutant dualhorn.”

Prompto peered over his shoulder. “Codename Bloodhorn? Sounds terrifying.”

“Noct!” Ignis yelled, and they both whirled to see something leaping through the air towards them. Something with tusks and blood-thirst in its eyes.

It collided with Noct, knocking him to the ground. Prompto took it through the head with a bullet, then whirled to fire at the one Gladio was holding back with his greatsword.

“You okay?” he asked Noct, lending him a hand off the ground and turning back towards the entrance. His heart was thudding in his chest, but he felt strangely focused.

Which was good, because that was when all hell broke loose.

The weird, spiny, mutt-like creatures were everywhere, all snarling faces and bony limbs and terrible wet dog stench. Noct was flickering blue throughout the little shack, while Gladio was trying to get enough room to swing. Ignis had swapped to his daggers, which were probably easier to maneuver in the small space, but he was elbow-deep in blood and fur. Prompto kept firing and praying he wouldn’t hit anyone’s vital organs.

“Al-riiight, Ignis!” Noct cheered as the advisor took down the last of the beasts.

“Did you expect anything less?” Ignis quipped, pushing up his glasses and then making a face when it left a smear of blood on the bridge of his nose, which he swiped away with the back of his hand “Well, that was . . . messy.”

“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” Prompto said, bursting back outside into sunshine.

“Hey, what about the shack over there?” Gladio asked, pointing.

“Great, more shacks,” Prompto muttered.

“Loooove shacks?” Noct crooned.

“You cheered up quite a bit once we started killing things, Noct,” Ignis noted dryly.

“I always feel better when I’m using magic,” Noct said. “Killing things is just a bonus.” He warped across the road before anyone else could comment.

When they caught up to him, they spotted more beasts circling outside the shack. Noct made as if to warp again, but Ignis caught his arm.

“What if you warp up to that windmill first, Noct?” he asked.

Noct nodded. “Yeah, good call.” And then he was gone, and the fray started all over again.

Only after they had dispatched the last sabertusk did the muscular, tattooed guy emerge from the shed, which Prompto thought was in poor taste. But no one asked him.

“And look who’s in here — the man of the hour,” said Gladio. “Dave, right? Been looking for you.”

“Didn’t mean to cause y’all any trouble,” Dave said, leaning on the frame of the door. “Been stuck here on account of my sprained ankle.”

Noct snorted. “Yeah, I get that.”

Dave glanced at Noct, who was leaning on his cane. “Uh, well, y’all don’t look much like hunters,” he said, and stopped there. Like there was something else he wanted to ask.

“Don’t we?” Noct said, eventually. “Took care of these guys well enough.”

“If yer sure,” Dave said, turning to look at Gladio — who, Prompto would admit, did seem the most Hunter-y of them all — “there’s still one more mean mutt about. Whaddaya say? Put that puppy to rest for me?”

“When you say _puppy_ , do you mean the mutant dualhorn codenamed Bloodhorn?” Prompto asked, pleased at his ability to sound slightly sarcastic rather than mostly ill. Which is how he felt.

Dave chuckled. “That’s the one.”

“Well,” Noct said, pressing a potion into Dave’s hand, “don’t let us keep you.”

“Thanks. I owe y’all one,” Dave said, rolling the ankle to check it with appreciation. He waved goodbye as he jogged back towards Hammerhead.

“I believe the Merrioth haven is near here on the map,” Ignis said. “Why don’t we make camp for the day, take on the mark in the morning?”

Noct shot him an annoyed look, but Gladio landed a hand on his shoulder. “We could all use a break.”

“From killing things? Mmm, yeah.” Prompto agreed.

“Alright,” Noct said, resigned. “Lead the way, Iggy.”

* * *

By the time they finished setting up camp, the sun was drawing low to the horizon. Gladio spent an unusually long time torturing Noct inside the tent while Ignis set up the cookstove and Prompto foraged for firewood, all the while keeping an eye out for murderous animals, which were definitely his least favorite part of this road trip so far.

But like, all the other parts? All the other parts, he could definitely get behind.

“Hey, Prompto!” Gladio called, emerging from the tent. “You’re up for sparring.”

“Gladio, I can’t just practice shooting you,” he said.

“We gotta get you up to speed on a melee weapon anyway,” Gladio said. “What did you like best in training?”

“Honestly, I was pretty evenly bad with all of them.”

Gladio grinned and pulled a greatsword out of the armiger. Prompto made a face. “Okay, I think those are just your thing, big guy.”

Gladio snorted. “My little sister can use one.”

“Iris?! Isn’t she like, twelve?”

“Thirteen,” Gladio said, looking very proud and big brother-y. “Noct was practicing with one before he got hurt, too — it was hilarious, he was such a shrimp. Here, let’s try you with the polearm — mmm, nah, I can already tell that’s not your thing. Short sword?”

Half an hour later, Prompto was sweating buckets and sporting half a dozen new bruises, and Gladio finally had to admit it, too. “Okay, I guess swords really aren’t your thing. But what are you gonna do for close combat?”

“I dunno, find a chainsaw or something?”

“Huh,” Gladio said, as if that wasn’t a half-bad idea, and Prompto was reminded that Gladio was also definitely insane, but in a quieter, more manly way.

“Iggy’s got dinner’s ready, guys,” Noct called down from the haven, and they trooped back up to find Ignis ladling stew into bowls.

“Thanks, Iggy, I’m starving,” he said, accepting a bowl to pass to Noct and then one for himself.

By the time they were scraping the last bites out of their bowls, the sun had set in earnest and stars were filing the sky — even more than they could see last night.

“Ain’t that something,” Gladio marveled.

“You still know all those constellations, Iggy?” Noct asked.

“Hmm, well, it’s harder to pick them out in the real night sky than it is in a star atlas,” the adviser said, face tilted up towards the heavens. “But I believe that one up there — with the three stars in a row, and the bright one at the end — is the Glacian.”

“Looks more like a chocobo to me,” Prompto mused.

“Oh yeah, I totally see it,” agreed Noct.

“Did you see the chocobo rental post back at Hammerhead?” Gladio asked.

_“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—”_

“I don’t see why not,” Ignis said, thankfully before Prompto ran out of air. “In fact, that’s another solution to our off-road problem.”

“Thanks for making it our problem,” muttered Noct.

“Chocobos are never a problem, Noct,” Prompto said seriously.

“Well, first things first: mutant dualhorn in the morning,” Gladio said. “Then, we should probably get going down to Galdin — unless we’re really making that detour to Keycatrich.”

“We’ve got the time, and we’ve done our research,” Ignis said. “Still, perhaps we best see how we fare against a more formidable foe tomorrow, lest we end up in over our heads.”

“Guess it’s time to hit the hay, then,” Noct said, but they lingered by the firelight beneath the stars a little longer.

Yep. Prompto could go for a few more weeks of this. In fact, he was already starting to dread going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU ALL thank you so much for reading and following along. I've been working on the ennnnd~ing (how are we down to five more chapters?!) and I'm really excited to share the rest with you all. Your comments make my day!


	19. Missing Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello from just before midnight :) Thanks for your patience, it has been a Trying Week™. 
> 
> Housekeeping: I've updated the tags (because I tagged this very flippantly when I created it) and added a content note to the beginning of the fic (for ableism, which also does ramp up in the ending). I've also updated the chapter count because in writing out the ending I realized I need one extra chapter, sorry! Or not sorry! Depending on your perspective!

Gladio slammed the horn they’d sawed off the mutant dualhorn onto the counter of Takka’s diner with gusto. “Done,” he told the man with a grin. Then, he remembered the tomatoes and nestled them, gently, next to the horn. “And done.”

Takka looked surprised, though Gladio wasn’t sure if he was impressed they’d taken down the dualhorn or if that was just his resting face. “Uh! Yes, thank you,” he said, counting out the bounty from the cash register. “Good of y’all to handle that for us.”

Gladio immediately slid some of the gil back over the counter. “We could use a good meal after that.”

“Sure, sure.”

He rejoined the others in the booth by the window, where Noct had managed to fall asleep with his head on the table in the two minutes since they’d arrived.

“Bet hunts get posted from diners so Hunters come eat when they're done,” Gladio said, sliding in next to Prompto. "Good for business."

“Worked on us — I am _starving_ ,” Prompto said.

“I’d imagine local business owners depend on the security Hunters provide for the wellbeing of their businesses,” Ignis said. “Although I question whether it’s hygienic for evidence to be dropped on food preparation spaces.”

“Guess I shoulda put that in a bag or something."

Takka brought them their sandwiches, and Gladio raised a hand in thanks while Ignis shook Noct back to something resembling consciousness.

“We need to discuss whether or not we’re actually making the detour to Keycatrich,” Ignis said after they'd had a few moments to blindly shove food into their faces.

Noct swallowed the bite of sandwich he’d taken. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to look, would it?”

“That’s just it,” Ignis said. “It may well. The records I found allude to considerable difficulty in the retrieval of most Royal Arms.”

“I don’t want to get in over our heads,” Noct said, slowly, with more restraint than he’d shown at any other point since they’d left Insomnia, “but when else am I gonna have the chance?"

Gladio nodded. “Pretty sure the Empire isn’t going to want us roaming the countryside picking up weapons after they take everything over.”

“How many magic-dead-guy weapons are we talking here, anyway?” Prompto asked.

“As many as there are deceased kings and queens,” Ignis said. “Though not all have survived. Some rulers have claimed none at all, others just a few, and others still more than a dozen.”

Gladio cracked his neck (which made Ignis wince) as he considered.

On the one hand, they had no clue what they were getting into. He was pretty sure this was another piece of Noct’s magical heritage that the King was holding back on, knowledge that fathers were supposed to pass down to sons. Something that Regis would share in time, with the missing pieces Noct would need.

Gladio just couldn’t understand what he was waiting for. When would Noct _get_ another chance? And didn’t he need all the help he could get with whatever the hell his vague, grand destiny was?

The thought of getting his charge killed in some booby-trapped tomb sent a wave of cold fear from the top of his head down his spine. But the thought of getting Noct a powerful weapon he could use to kill things? That was a good thought.

“Let’s go for it,” he said.

Noct grinned at him and held a fist out to bump. “Let do it.”

* * *

“More Imperials,” Gladio noted grimly, nodding out the window as they drove north towards the ruins of Keycatrich. The group of magitek troopers stood at eerily still attention outside a parked drop-ship. They were allowed to be here, under the uneasy detente before the treaty was signed — and obviously they’d been in Lucis before, causing a lot more trouble than they were under the ceasefire.

But still. The sight of them unchallenged on Lucian soil made Gladio’s fists clench. He supposed he was going to have to get used to it.

“Okay, new game,” Prompto said. Kid seemed contractually obligated to lighten the mood. “Every time you see an abandoned shack, and you call it first, you get to punch someone.”

“What about abandoned cars?” Noct asked, surprising Gladio, who had thought he was asleep again.

“Nah, that’s too easy — oh! Shack!” He made as if to punch Ignis’s shoulder, but Ignis shot him a look so sharp that the his fist seemed to deflate in mid-air and flutter awkwardly back towards his lap. “Fine, no one likes my game.”

“I liked your game,” Gladio said amiably. “But I really don’t think you want me to punch you.”

“Not like, for _real,_ no."

The closer they got, the rougher the road became, bumping them along until Ignis pulled into the Hunter outpost marked on the map.

It was one of the most depressing places Gladio had ever seen. What he’d initially taken for an abandoned shack (he resisted the urge to punch Prompto) must actually be the outpost. A couple rough-and-tumble Hunters were leaning against the building, watching them roll in. Everything seemed beaten down, from the old forklift covered in weeds to a cat missing half an ear sitting atop a rusty fence by an old silo.

“Is that a real tank?” Prompto asked, pointing to the rusted metal vehicle with the line of its cannon pointing straight into the road. “It’s seriously old.”

“It’s likely from the Great War,” Ignis said. “You can see the ruins of Keycatrich above that cliff; the Empire burned it to the ground after the Wall was scaled back. Many citizens sought refuge here, until it became apparent there would be no rebuilding.”

Gladio followed Ignis’s gaze to the twisted metal wreckage of the city. It was hard to believe it had been one of the biggest, richest cities in Lucis, once upon a time. His dad had military friends who’d grown up here and lost their homes.

"Another reason to hate the Empire," he growled.

"Add it to the list," said Noct.

They all got out of the car, and Prompto and Noct wandered over to check out the wares a Hunter was selling from the back of a red pickup truck while he and Ignis looked at the map.

“Ah,” Ignis said, tapping the map and then pointing to where a small dirt path split from the road, snaking northward. “It looks like this is the path to the tomb. It’s not a far distance, thankfully.”

“We need anything else before we head in?”

Ignis shook his head. “The King ensured we were well stocked with curatives before we departed." He hesitated, as if something was bothering him.

"What's up, Iggy?"

"We're almost _too_ well stocked, to be honest," Ignis said. "The King insisted we take a full dozen phoenix downs, twice as many elixirs, and enough potions that we could probably drink them as water for the duration of our trip and not go thirsty."

Gladio was silent a while, watching Prompto's animated hand gestures as he and Noct chatted with the vendor. “With the treaty, with Noct, with the King . . . I feel like there’s a piece that doesn’t fit.”

Ignis stared up the path. “Yes. I know what you mean.”

“And?”

“Unfortunately, I don't know what to do about it," he said, taking a deep breath. "It’s also entirely possible we’re just out of our depth for the first time.”

“Guess we just gotta make sure not to let our guards down,” Gladio said. “And you’re right. Could be nothing. I mean, it’s weird thinking all of this land is gonna be the Empire.”

Ignis nodded thoughtfully. “It is a disturbing thought. Within Insomnia, people seem so pleased for peace, but out here . . . Well, of course. It’s peoples’ homes. They fear a repeat of 30 years ago.”

“Hard to blame ‘em, seeing a place like this,” Gladio said.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Noct said as he and Prompto strode back over. “Lead the way, Iggy.”

Ignis led them behind the Hunter's headquarters onto a small dirt path that wound through grass and shrubs. It quickly became clear it was going to be an uphill climb, and that was pretty much number one on the list of Bad Ideas for Noct’s Leg.

“Okay, wait,” Gladio said. “I think Prompto should scout ahead and see if it’s this steep the whole way.”

“I can just warp up, it’s no big deal,” Noct muttered, though he was eyeing the incline. Gladio knew it would be tricky to judge that correctly; much harder than warping up to a platform.

“And knock yourself unconscious again? Nah,” Gladio countered.

“Dude, no big, I’ll just check it out,” Prompto said, jogging on. When he reached the signs posted at the base of the path he stopped and whistled. “’Keep Your Distance or Die — Vicious Varmints and Dangerous Daemons,’” he read back to them. “Really gives you a cheerful feeling.”

“Ah, alliteration, always useful when warning against imminent death,” Ignis remarked dryly. “We shall have to keep our wits about us, regardless.”

Prompto went up and around the bend in the path, and then came back around the curve a few minutes later, cheeks red. “Uh, sorry, Noct, it’s super steep. Like basically rock-climbing towards the top. Definitely a no-go.”

And that was how Gladio ended up giving the Crown Prince a piggyback ride to the royal tomb of his forbearer.

It was awkward, slow going. Noct couldn’t keep his right knee bent sharply enough to hook around Gladio’s hip, so he kind of just octopused himself to Gladio’s back while trying to keep his right leg somewhat straight. And though Noct was definitely shrimpier than he should be, despite Gladio's efforts, it was doubly hard to carry him while trudging up the path.

When they reached the top, with its not-very-encouraging view of the desolation that had befallen Keycatrich, they were both breathing heavily and sweating. Noct slid to stand and patted his shoulder weakly. "Thanks."

“Okay,” Prompto said. “I feel like this was a really great argument for chocobos next time.”

“Chocobo for Prompto, a motorcycle for me," Noct said, taking a swig of a water bottle he'd pulled from the armiger and wiping his mouth. "Iggy, Gladio? Any requests?”

“Dirtbike,” Gladio said, straightening back up and swinging his arms in circles.

“I believe after this I will be most grateful for the _boat_ after this adventure,” Ignis said. “Are we all ready?”

“Let’s see what we’re up against,” Noct said, rubbing his hands together. He summoned his cane to take the small set of stairs that up to the carved stone tomb’s doors, then dismissed it to nervously lay both hands on the ancient carvings. “Alright, this is it.”

Noct shoved, but the doors didn’t budge. He pushed harder, then rammed his left shoulder against them, but nothing happened.

“That . . . was climactic,” Prompto deadpanned.

“Want me to try?” Gladio asked, and Noct stepped aside obligingly, scratching at the back of his head. He shoved hard against the door for several moments, but it was obvious that it wasn’t going to give.

“We could break it down,” Noct suggested, tilting his head at it.

“We are not desecrating the tombs of your forefathers,” Ignis snapped.

“It looks like there’s a slot for a key,” Prompto said, crouching down to get a closer look.

Everyone looked at Ignis, who crossed his arms and looked sour. “None of the sources I consulted mentioned anything about a key.”

“Goodness _gracious_ , don’t tell me you came all this way without the key to the front door?”

Gladio whirled around towards the stranger's voice. A man with a mop of rust-red hair, battered fedora, and weird-ass taste in fashion smiled up at them from the bottom of the steps.

Where had he even come from?

"Who’s asking?" Gladio barked, edging subtly in front of Noct.

"Who, _me_?” the stranger said, voice smooth and slippery as he slowly ascended the stairs towards them, “ _I_ am of no consequence, but let's just say I have a . . . vested interest in the safety of the Crown Prince." 

Noct started beside him. Not so incognito, after all.

"I regret to inform you that the what lies within is far too dangerous for your party’s level of skill, in any case,” he said, making a shooing motion. “You’d best trot off before someone gets hurt.”

"And you know this, how?" Ignis inquired.

"Call me a scholar of history," the man said, doffing his hat towards Ignis. "Now, how about we get you all back on your way? I’d be happy to offer you a ride, as I'm sure you must be _quite_ worn out from the climb." His eyes lingered on Noct with a glimmer of amused malice.

Gladio bit back a growl. The guy knew who Noct was and was also being a _dick_.

“You drove a car up here?” Prompto asked, looking around curiously. Stupid. Gladio gritted his teeth. Like hell were they gonna get in a vehicle with a stranger; any five-year-old could tell you that was a bad idea.

“Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” Ignis interjected, voice frosty. 

“You wound me — I am only trying to help,” he said, sounding anything but wounded. “Nevertheless, I offer you one last piece of advice.” Here, he paused, having stopped way too close to all of them. Noct was holding his ground beside Gladio, though he could feel the tension in the Prince’s stance.

The man dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “The Imperial troops who will shortly sweep this area will be displeased to see His Highness has taken a detour from the approved itinerary. I should hate for them to wonder what the Crown might be playing at. It could prove detrimental to that lovely treaty.” With that, he tipped his hat and swept away towards the ruined town up the hill.

Gladio might have dismissed it as bluster, except — _there:_ the whir of a dropship engine, so faint that he’d never have noticed it unprompted.

Well, _shit._

He didn’t stop to ask permission this time: he threw Noct over his shoulder and began to bolt. Prompto immediately swung in front, and Ignis took the rear by silent agreement. They thudded down the steep incline, skidding and sliding down the dirt path, and thank _Astrals_ Noct decided to not protest, but wrapped his arms around Gladio’s neck and shifted downward so that he was riding piggyback again, but with none of the care and caution they’d exercised on the upward climb. Noct’s blunt nails were digging into Gladio’s arms with painful force.

At the bottom, Noct pushed off his back and landed hard behind him; Gladio caught his arm to keep him upright. They hung back while Ignis and Prompto crossed the road to the car and piled in.

Ignis pulled a three-point turn with astonishing speed and they swung back towards Gladio and Noctis, who jumped in immediately, and Ignis hit the gas and they sped away.

They could hear the dropship over the roar of their own engine, and then they could see it, looming in the sky, heading towards the hill they’d just vacated. No one said anything for a long moment. Gladio was just trying to catch his breath.

“How bad is it if they catch us on a detour?” Noct asked, voice tense like a fishing line about to snap.

“I have no idea,” Ignis said. “I did not anticipate that the Empire would be tracking our movements, or apprised of them . . . and in fact, I am certain that the King did not share our itinerary with anyone.”

“Who knows if the threat was real, but that guy knew way too much,” Gladio said.

“So, we’re giving up on the whole Tomb Raider thing?” Prompto asked.

“Yes,” said Noctis with bleak finality. And then, so soft he almost missed it, “Fuck.”

“Noctis,” Ignis said sharply, glancing back. “Did that aggravate your—”

“Yes, my everything,” Noct said sharply, eyes squeezed shut and face red. “We'll deal with it later. After we're sure we haven't just messed everything up for everyone.”

Ignis's driving gloves squeaked as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "They have no cause to detain us. But I will feel better once we are safely in Tenebrae."

By the time they made it to Longwythe, passing several of the MT-manned outposts along the way without incident, Gladio was pretty sure they weren't being followed. If they'd messed anything up, it was Noct's body. He had to carry Noct in from the car, bridal-style this time, and he knew it was bad by the way Noct didn't complain at all. Didn't speak at all, actually, just kept his jaw gritted shut like he didn't trust what might come out if he opened it.

Gladio laid him on the motel bed and checked him over briefly. Even the lightest touches sent Noct arching away; there wasn't much he could do tonight, except hope the painkillers Iggy doled out let Noct sleep so they could try and piece him back together in the morning.

Not that he could sleep, either.

He had no idea who that guy had been, or how he'd found them there, or how he'd known about the incoming dropship. It was an unsettling weight on his mind, and it partnered with Noct's ragged breathing to keep him staring sleeplessly at the motel's popcorn ceiling long into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know how to tweet but i got a [twitter](https://twitter.com/everylemon1/status/1355281912663842816), please come help me. also there's [tumblr.](https://every-lemon.tumblr.com/)


	20. Three Z's

Hard to think.

Thoughts bubbled up through black static but slipped back down before he could grab them, whirled round and round along the same breathless paths, pain grinding grooves into his brain, tightening around his lungs, pulling him down and sinking him into panic.

Panic. Couldn’t panic.

Panic would be thrashing, screaming, maybe somehow peeling out of his own body — _oh please gods, just five minutes out of this body, just to get it all straight in his own head_ — and all that would wake the others. Worry the others.

The others were awake. The others were worried.

He knew. They knew. All pretending. If he could just even out his breathing, they could even out their breathing. If he could just pretend to sleep, they could fall asleep. They could leave him alone in darkness and silence to get the rest they needed.

His friends needed rest. So he needed to breathe. Filling lungs, emptying lungs. Full, empty. In, out. In, out. Out.

Out.

Out.

He wanted out of the bed, out of the room, out of the flicker-light motel with buzzing neon outside the window, out of his body for just a moment, just a moment to think without the knives and the burning and the spa— _ah_ — spasms — _shit_ — stop — _please STOP._

_Pleasepleaseplease —_

Hands on his hands.

Damn it. So much for letting his friends sleep (just sleep, they should just sleep and leave him alone to scream, fuck, it would be so much easier if he could scream —)

“Noct. Noct, you are hurting yourself.” Ignis. Pulling his hands off his arms, fingernails from his flesh, he hadn’t noticed. A sob tore free. Another.

Arms on his arms, levering him up, which was fresh pain but fresh pain was better than stale pain, better than the same old hurts lingering, going bad, dragging down into decay and —

Arms on arms on his arms. Hands on his knee — Gladio? — stop, _please_ , just last the next second, just last the next minute, too much, too far, just the next breath. Just take . . . the next . . .

Unbearable tightening — please —

Hands in his hair. Dad? No. Please, just . . . Hands in his hair. Bitten-lip blood. Hideous unrelenting pressure burning into his knee, stop, stop, STOP, flames sparking burning —

Burning down into warmth.

The warmth started to work to bring him back him down. Or up. Whichever way was back.

He didn’t want to be back. He wanted a fade to black, a jump-cut to the morning and _better_. Bad but better. He wanted to lose hours. Minutes. He wasn’t losing minutes. He wasn’t losing seconds.

But the warmth.

The warmth was better. The warmth took away some of the static. The warmth let him breathe in. Out. In.

In.

In.

“Noct.” Prompto, shaky.

He always worried his friends. “I’m fine.”

“Fine enough to lie.” Gladio. “That’s probably an improvement.”

“Yeah.” His lips were rough with flaky skin. He opened his eyes to see Ignis with a glass of water — Ignis, whom he didn’t deserve.

They had all deserved to sleep.

“Sorry.” He took the glass and drank so he wouldn’t have to see their faces for another moment.

“Idiot.” Gladio, warmly.

Warm.

He handed the glass back and opened his eyes. Gladio, with the hot water bottle pressed gently to the worst parts. Ignis, setting the glass back down without letting his arm leave Noct’s shoulder. Prompto, eyes kind as always, hand hovering whisper-soft on his arm.

“That helps,” he said. To all of it. To all of them. “You help. Sorry. Thank you.”

“Idiot,” Prompto echoed.

They turned on the lights (so much better, to not have to pretend) and settled in.

Pain crashed, ebbed, flowed. Warmth stole bits away, and maybe the medication kicked in a little more. Gladio repositioned the hot water bottle. Time passed, and Gladio moved it again.

Someone had turned on the TV at some point. It flickered calmingly, muted. Eventually, his eyes settled on it, and he started reading captions without thinking about it. He started following the plot, something about a dog. He wondered if that beach scene had been filmed near Galdin. Maybe they’d see it.

He was looking forward to seeing the beach, especially since he’d packed his fishing gear. Insomnia was surrounded by ocean, but it wasn’t the sandy-beaches kind. It would be nice to go swimming; wasn’t saltwater supposed to be good for muscle aches? He hadn’t gone swimming since he’d been hurt. Swimming and sun were good to make you tired.

He was tired.

He was really, really tired.

“I think I can sleep now,” he said, and three heads jerked up. And then, as a mea culpa for earlier: “I’m not lying this time.”

Ignis snorted. “Thank you for the clarification. It was entirely necessary.”

They climbed back into the beds. Gladio stole Ignis’s spot next to him this time. The pain was still there, still acidic. But this time, sleep was stronger, and he tipped towards it with gratitude.

He felt the fade to black.

* * *

Hands moved his leg, bent his knee ever-so-slightly, relaxed it. Again. And then again. His eyes flicked open to dim light and Gladio concentrating, trying to get things moving, hold off more stiffness. 

It hurt, but he could handle this kind of hurt.

“Go back to sleep,” Gladio said, settling his leg back down. “I’ll do that again later.”

“Kay.”

He slept.

* * *

When he blinked back to consciousness, the room was bright with sunshine. No Iggy or Gladio; Prompto was dressed and sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter on the other side of the bed, flipping through photos on his camera.

He had to swallow first, and the grossness of his mouth confirmed he’d been asleep for a long time. Good. That was good.

“Any good ones?”

Prompto turned with a grin, tilting the screen towards him. “Dude, they’re all good ones.”

* * *

When Gladio and Ignis came back with lunch and supplies, Noct could hear them talking outside the motel before they walked into the room. Something about Imperial troops in the town. But they stopped the conversation before coming back inside.

Ignis uncapped styrofoam bowls of soup for everyone, passed out spoons and napkins, and they all sat cross-legged on the beds to eat. Well, except him; he was propped up against the headboard.

After the weirdness at the royal tomb, he was ready to get the hell out of Lucis and onto their sanctioned destination. Nothing bad had even happened, but it felt foreboding. The creepy stranger’s implication that his actions could somehow unravel the entire peace treaty had stopped him cold when he’d come out of the pain long enough to remember it. He couldn't risk that. They should be on their way now.

“What time are we leaving?” he asked.

Ignis instantly pierced him with a Look and snapped, “Tomorrow at the earliest. If Gladiolus deems it prudent.”

The first thing that popped into his mind — _I’m just going to be sitting in the car, what does it matter_ — might have worked on someone else. But first of all, Ignis knew that sitting in the car was guaranteed to lock everything right back up. And second of all, he knew better.

So he nodded and took tiny bites of chickatrice noodle soup until Ignis’s shoulders lost a bit of their tension.

* * *

It wasn’t a good night. Nowhere near last night, thank gods, but sleep wasn’t coming near and he kept needing to shift, twist, get up, and otherwise be a nuisance.

When he stood up to stretch for the millionth time, Prompto punched his elbow and whispered, “Hey, jailbreak?”

“Jailbreak,” he affirmed.

They headed out their room’s door and into the warm night (single-story buildings for the win). Prompto was ahead and automatically turned towards the end of the walkway with two smaller steps down instead of one larger one, plus a more convenient railing to grab.

They just walked slowly around the courtyard, and it helped. It would be a rough couple days, but he’d be okay. This was nowhere he hadn’t been before.

“It’s been a crazy few days since we left, huh,” he said.

"Yeah, crazy fun!” said Prompto, sounding way too enthusiastic for someone who had spent the last 24 hours mostly listening to him whimper. “Uh, except for, y’know.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I do. On both counts.”

“A lot’s changed since we first met, huh? What’s it been, three years?”

“A lot longer than that. Since elementary school," Noct said. And since they were talking about it, and come to think of it, he’d never actually gotten around to giving Prompto shit for it: “And when we did meet in high school, you pretended it was for the first time.”

Prompto’s laugh was one part sheepish, two parts surprised. “I mean, we went to the same school and all, but that's not really meeting someone."

"We had a whole class together! I lent you a pencil once."

Prompto spun to face him, arm swinging to punch his shoulder. "No way, you remember that?!"

"Why wouldn’t I? You do."

"Yeah, well, don't get a big head or anything, but Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum handed me a pencil. It was noteworthy. From your perspective it was probably more like, ’This kid is a mess, I'll put him out of his misery.’"

Noct shot him a Look he may or may not have copped off Iggy. He'd be hurt Prompto would even think that, but he had a feeling it wasn't really about him. "No, it wasn’t.” After a moment, he added. “You should’ve talked to me sooner. In elementary school.”

"Easy for you to say. Why didn't _you_ talk to _me_ , then?"

"I lent you a pencil," Noct pointed out. "Classic first move."

Prompto rolled his eyes. "Hey, remember when I found you puking up your guts at school?"

He groaned because he did. Vividly. "I lucked out. Anyone with any sense would have gone running for the nurse, and that would have been the end of my public school career."

"Good thing for you I have no sense.”

“Good thing for me,” Noct agreed easily as they rounded the empty parking lot. Insects and air conditioners whirred in the muggy, still air. It was a cloudy night, cut off from the tableau of stars they’d seen at the campsite.

"I never imagined that it would work out like this,” Prompto said, slow and careful. “That I'd get to go on an adventure with you guys."

"You call hobbling around a motel parking lot at one in the morning an adventure?"

"Sure!" Prompto said instantly. "Just being out of the city is a big deal. Besides, it’s something I can do, y’know?”

“I mean, yeah, but it’s not like it’s the _only_ thing you’ve done.”

“I’ve definitely had my moments,” Prompto said, all faux bravado, but then deflated back into himself. “It’s just, sometimes . . . ah, never mind.”

Noct flicked his arm. “You can’t just stop halfway through.”

Prompto laughed, did that thing where he’d swing his arm around to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know.”

He lowered himself down on one of the benches in front of the motel’s porch. He motioned to the seat next to him with a flourish. “Tell me what’s bugging you.”

Prompto took the spot, leaning forward over legs out straight for a minute before settling back. “You know you guys are all really intimidating, right?”

“Sure, Iggy and Gladio, but right now you could probably take me down with a squirt gun.”

“Don’t pull the Tiny Tim act on me, I watched you call down magical fire to burn a rampaging mutant dualhorn to a delightfully charred crisp yesterday morning.”

“Eh. But it’s not like you haven’t been kicking ass and taking names, too.”

“It’s not just the fighting stuff — although I’m like, fully aware three weeks of rushed bootcamp isn’t equal to literal years of practice,” Prompto said.

“So, what is it, then?”

“It’s just . . . I’m not royalty, I’m not especially competent at anything like Ignis is at everything, I’m not amazing with people like Gladio — did you see how he had that guy at the diner spilling his whole life story? I try and keep the mood light, but inside, I’m kind of a mess of hang-ups.”

Noct swallowed. It figured he’d missed out on noticing Prompto silently struggling with his inferiority complex. He was always so wrapped up in his own head (body).

Okay, so time to try to ignore his body and get out of his head. “Hang-ups about what?”

Prompto huffed. “That I’m . . . not good enough. That we’re gonna get back to Insomnia and it’ll all be over.” He was absentmindedly twisting his wristband.

Noct shifted his weight to bump Prompto’s shoulder with his own. “Think what you will, but you’re good enough for me.”

“You really think I’m doing okay?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “And as for when we get back to Insomnia . . . I mean, we’ll both be busier, but hell if I’m gonna let my best friend get away that easy.”

There was a long moment where Prompto was staring at the pavement with alarming intensity. And then: “Do kings get to have best friends?”

Huh. Wow.

That question hurt on like, five different levels.

The first being the most obvious: he didn’t want to think about becoming a king. At the pace his dad was going . . . his stomach turned unpleasantly, for the millionth time in the past few months, thinking of his dad’s gray hair and disappointed eyes. And people gossiped, alluded to Mors and how his premature aging had sped up towards the end. If the Wall really could come down, it would buy time, though. He hoped a lot. But he didn’t know.

And he wanted to just wave Prompto’s question away with an _of course_ , but . . . _did_ kings have best friends? He only knew the one. And his dad had Clarus, and Cor, but the thought of them hanging out didn’t really fit. They were on the payroll. They were filling roles. Cid, out in Hammerhead, had been been a friend when they were younger, on an adventure much grander than this one . . . but they hadn’t spoken for many years. They’d had a fight when his grandfather had still been king and hadn’t seen each other again until four years ago. Not until that night in Hammerhead.

So yeah, he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand. But didn’t Prompto know he needed him? Hadn’t he asked him to be part of his guard, to be here — or told him he could be here — but he'd . . .

He’d what? Reluctantly assented to him being here. Kind of freaked out when Prompto had first told him he wanted to be here. He’d said yes, but maybe it had been all too clear how much part of him had wanted to say no.

Shit.

Prompto stood up suddenly, looking up at the pink motel sign. “We should go back in,” he said, and it would have come across as easy and nonchalant to anyone who was a moron.

“No, Prompto, I —”

“It’s okay, Noct. I got pretty real all of a sudden, just over-thinking, you know me.”

“Just stop, just — hold on,” he reached out to catch Prompto’s forearm, yanked him back down on the bench. Prompto was tense and frowning, so he stared down at his boots instead, shifted to change which part of his back was hurting the worst, and took a deep breath like he was about to face down a dualhorn and not just reassure his BFF of that second F.

“Look, I know fuck-all about being a king, but if you’ve ever felt like I didn’t want you here, or around, or anything . . . it’s just because I know how selfish it is to want all that from you, that it’s asking a lot to just casually be like, _Oh hey dude, can you attend several years of training to learn how to most effectively throw yourself in front of a bullet for me_ — and that’s a real thing, by the way, Ignis and Gladio both had rubber bullet bruises for weeks.”

Prompto drew in a breath to say something to that, but Noct cut him off.

“No, I know, you do know. And you still want to be here, which is incredible — because I want you here, Prompto. Like, a lot. You’re my friend. And you’re a really, really good friend. I . . . don’t know about kings, but I know about me, and I’m not dropping you. Ever. And if there’s something I can do to make you stop worrying that I'm ever gonna stop wanting you around as much as you can be, then tell me, and I’ll do it.”

Prompto might have been swiping a tear away with the back of his hand. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t look up.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Prompto said. He didn’t sound mad. He sounded relieved. Something dark and terrible lifted out of Noct’s chest, and it was a lot easier to breathe without it. “I’ll stop worrying you won’t want me around anymore if you stop acting like being your friend is some terrible burden instead of the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Noct laughed. “Can you really hold up your end of that bargain?”

“Probably not,” Prompto admitted. “But I can try.”

“Well, then let’s pencil in a refresher of this talk for a few months from now, and I'll remind you again," he said, pressing his shoulder against Prompto’s. “You can talk to my adviser about putting it on the calendar.”

“I’ll have my adviser talk to your adviser,” Prompto said primly.

“Good, then let’s get inside before I’m never able to leave this bench again.”

“If you end up stuck here, I'll get you a Kenny Crow costume and you can take pictures with the kids,” Prompto snickered, hopping up and holding both hands out to help him up.

"What a pal."

* * *

In the morning, Gladio spent way too long poking and prodding at him (ow) and testing his range of motion (double ow). In the end, he gave a nod of assent to Ignis. “He’ll be okay if we stop often enough.”

“Alright,” Ignis said. “Let’s depart.”

They didn’t make good time. They stopped every 15 minutes so he could get out and stand up, walk around for a minute, and get back in. That minute was about all he could handle, anyway. 

Prompto was having an absolute field day, snapping photos at every stop, forcing them all to squash together for selfies or deploying his tripod for a timed shot. He couldn’t blame him; the land was beautiful. He was glad he’d have the photos, after. When all this land was part of the Empire.

He napped in the car, or watched the scenery going by, starting to feel a rising thrill. They were really doing it. Going to Tenebrae. To see Luna. And he was very studiously not getting his hopes up, not banking on some kind of miracle, but they’d see what Queen Sylva could do. Even if she could just take away some of the pain.

 _Especially_ if she could take away some of the pain.

* * *

They ended up camping on the road twice, spending nights around the campfire, Ignis showing off with surprisingly complex meals instead of the hot dogs Noct had kind of been looking forward to if he was being honest.

The best was the second night, when they reached Galdin Quay late, long after the last boat had departed for the day. They camped out on the beach. He got to fish for a couple hours while the guys begged a volleyball off another group and bumped it around.

The sound of the waves as he fell asleep helped soothe his rising nerves. Tomorrow, they’d cross an ocean, board a train, and make their way to Tenebrae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four! Chapters! Left! I miss Ignis, but we jump back in his head on Thursday!
> 
> Come follow me at [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/every-lemon) to watch me stress out over them, or like, please help me out on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/everylemon1) I literally have two tweets, my profile picture is an old vacation photo, and when I first made this account I accidentally followed 30 people from a work conference because I forgot to switch accounts. Follow me and I'll follow you and learn how to be human.
> 
> (guys i love all your comments even if they're just screaming. especially if they're just screaming. i reread them all many times while i work on the next chapter.)


	21. Art of Diplomacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so great! Thank you for reading this far!

The train pulled into Tenebrae with a drawn-out screech of steel as it slowed to a stop. The absence of movement, of the rhythmic vibrations as it headed down the track, felt odd after so long in motion. Too still.

"Remember, diplomacy begins now," Ignis reminded the others as they waited to disembark. The doors opened with a hiss, and they all stepped down off the train. He held a hand out to help Noct make the final step down with more grace than the Prince normally would have bothered with.

"You don't have anything to worry about," Noct said smoothly, reassuring.

"You could worry about me," Prompto pleaded. "Please don't let me cause an international incident.”

"Just do what we do and you’ll be fine," Gladio said, clapping Prompto's shoulder.

"Well, please don't mimic His Highness, he has different rules to follow than we do.”

"Because I'm special," Noct deadpanned.

"And _I_ will be filling the role of chamberlain for His Highness, so I would recommend shadowing Gladio. And Gladio, I would recommend not messing with Prompto,” he wheeled on Gladio, who looked sheepish. “He's right, we can't afford an incident. Not now."

"I'm so scared," Prompto whispered. "Let's go back to the dualhorns."

"Come on, guys, Luna's waiting. Where to?”

"There should be a driver to meet us — ah, here he is now."

The driver was tall, stately man in an impeccable suit of the Tenebraen style. Ignis was glad he’d made them all change on the train. A tailored black wool suit with tie for Noctis; Crownsguard uniforms for the rest of them. The Citadel uniforms, of course, not their field fatigues.

"Woah," Gladio breathed as they walked past the front of the train and the landscape opened up before them: a castle-like manor of towers and tiers that seemed to float above the silver lake. It was like something out of a fairy tale.

"Quite the vista," he said, appreciatively.

Prompto said nothing, but the shutter of his camera clicked behind Ignis.

The road to Fenestala Manor wound through red-rock formations and glimpses of blue-studded fields. The driver came to a stop outside a gated entrance, where guards were waiting to open their doors. The men bowed and escorted them inside without introducing themselves.

The manor was as beautiful within as it was on the outside. Marble floors, chandeliers that dripped crystals, ornate frames on classical portraits, and the windows — impossibly tall, arching windows everywhere. It was a far cry from the black-clad halls of the Citadel. But unlike the Citadel, which was always busy with business and government, the manor felt strangely empty. They saw a few people en route to their destination, but it was nowhere near the hustle and bustle Ignis might have expected from the country's seat of power.

The guards bowed them through into a formal receiving room. Ignis assumed there was a throne room somewhere, so this choice of venue could hint at less formal relations — or perhaps not, he wasn’t certain.

The room was circular and ringed with more of the pointed-arch windows, all set with gold-gilded intersecting grids. Queen Sylva and Lady Lunafreya stood in front of a sky-blue settee they must have just risen from.

The Queen was dressed in an ornate gown of blue silk damask, with a sculpted metal cape of gold feathers around her neck and shoulders that moved like chainmail; her silver crown was a different style from that of Lucis, with ice-like shards of crystal rising from the top and silver chains framing her face.

The Lady Lunafreya, by contrast, was dressed all in white, in a form-fitting dress with a scooping neckline and skirt that flared to hit just below the knee. Her golden hair was up, threaded through with intricate braids.

A few steps behind the settee, at a distance, stood Lord Ravus. Hair so light as to be silver-white, haughty face, formal white leather duster coat detailed in severe black and buttoned up to the chin. A silver sash with the crest of House Fleuret secured a saber to his side. He rested a gloved hand atop the saber and stood at military attention.

“Prince Noctis,” the Queen said, stepping towards them. “You and yours are most welcome to Tenebrae. It is an honor to welcome the Chosen of the Gods.”

Ignis did not think he imagined the way Ravus’s lips tightened into a grim line behind them. Or the way his eyes lingered on Noctis’s cane.

Noctis, for his part, bowed to the precisely correct angles (Ignis could have measured them with a protractor) and straightened three times, to each member of the Royal family in turn. “Queen Sylva. Lady Lunafreya. Lord Ravus. I thank you for the honor of your hospitality, and my father bid me convey his gratitude, as well.”

“I am sure you are weary from the long journey,” the Queen said, raising a hand to one of the attendants at the door. “Arnaus will show you to your chambers and let you get settled in before dinner.”

Noctis bowed again, hand over heart; they all shadowed him, Prompto only half-a-second behind, and followed the attendant out.

* * *

They had been given a set of suites on the ground floor; Ignis was thankful. The manor was full of spiraling staircases and he had yet to see an elevator.

The suites had a central room outfitted with a long, low sofa, dark wood coffee table, and twin armchairs. It was a circular room, with doors open to four different bedrooms. There was a closed door, as well, which Ignis assumed led to a bathroom.

Gladio immediately sprawled out on the sofa and closed his eyes, while Noct began methodically removing their bags from the armiger.

“Alright, gentlemen, let’s wash up and dress for dinner,” Ignis said.

Prompto started. “Aren’t we . . . wearing this?” he asked, gesturing to his Crownsguard uniform.

Gladio grunted, shaking his head. “Earlier, we were acting as Noct’s guards, delivering him here safely. Now we’re here as his retinue.”

“Theoretically, we are now all under the protection of the Guard of the Oracle,” Ignis elaborated. “Though, of course, it is mostly a polite fiction that we are here as friends only. We will all remain vigilant to ensure His Highness’s safety.”

“Can you stop Highness-ing me, Specs?” Noct asked, tossing his own bag onto one of the armchairs.

“As soon as we’re out of Tenebrae. I would regret a slip in front of the wrong audience.”

“Shit, should I be calling you that?” Prompto asked.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Noctis hissed at Prompto with a glare.

Prompto held his hands up to ward off further attack. “Fine, fine, I’ll stick with sugar-boo.”

“You’d better.”

“Wait, I won’t have to talk in front of anyone, will I?” Prompto asked, suddenly looking panicked. “Like, I just get to stand by the door looking bitter like Noct always complains about Gladio doing back home?”

Gladio snorted from the sofa. “You try watching this spoiled brat pick vegetables out of everything for ten years straight.”

Noct stuck out his tongue, which was irrelevant because Gladio couldn’t see it.

“Prompto, what I’m trying to say is, you will be joining dinner as part of His Highness’s personal retinue,” Ignis said. “Which means you will be acting in that capacity.”

Prompto did not look reassured. If anything, his eyes got wider.

“Prompto, do you even know what a _retinue_ is?” Noctis asked, handing over Prompto’s chocobo-print duffel bag.

“I thought I did, but now I think I don’t,” Prompto whispered, clutching at the bag like a life-line.

"You never talked to him about this?" Ignis asked Noctis, amused.

“You were the one who signed off on it,” Noct said, handing Ignis his own bag. “Remember?”

“Yes, but—”

“Prompto,” Gladio cut in, thankfully stopping him and Noct before they could devolve into childhood patterns of squabbling. “All it means is you’re here as Noct’s friend.”

“Well, there’s a good deal more nuance to the actual contract than that,” Ignis cut in, annoyed. Perhaps because he’d written it. “But yes, that’s the gist of it.”

“Oh.” Prompto said, looking dazed. “Right. Friend. I can . . . do that.”

“That’s the spirit,” Noct said, thumping Prompto on the back. “I’m gonna shower.”

“You have five minutes, Your Highness,” he called after Noct’s retreating back as he dug a clothes iron out from his bag. And then, to Prompto: “Here, toss me your dinner jacket and I’ll touch it up.”

“Dinner jacket. R-right,” Prompto said, unzipping the wardrobe bag Ignis had helped him assemble and staring at it blankly. “Which one is . . .”

“You’re doing great,” Gladio said firmly, before Ignis could say anything.

Ignis sighed. “I’ll get it for you.”

"Are there going to be lots of forks?" Prompto asked. He was still white. Ignis thought of Prompto driving an ATV into a nest of reapertails and thought he had his priorities misplaced.

"People hype that up, but it's simple, you just go outside in," Gladio said. "So if you get soup first, the soup spoon will be on the outside."

"Outside in," Prompto muttered. "Okay. I got this."

"You'll be just fine," Ignis said, as much up himself as to Prompto.

* * *

Ignis had been unsure who would join them at dinner, but as he settled at the long, lavishly set table, sparkling with cut crystal and silver candelabras, he saw it was just the royal family. Attendants stood near silver chafing dishes, ready to serve.

They made polite, formal conversation for a while, with Noctis inventing an uneventful trip here and the Oracle inquiring about their lives back in the Citadel. Ignis spoke of his work as adviser, and Gladio shared a bit about the Crownsguard. All bland and safe conversational topics.

“And what of you, Mr. Argentum?” Ravus asked suddenly, drawing out the “mister” just slightly, giving the honorific the opposite of its intended effect with such plausible deniability that Ignis was simultaneously impressed and repulsed. “You must have quite the unusual skill, to have been chosen for the Prince’s retinue at such a young age.”

Noctis went very still besides Ignis.

Prompto flushed red. “N-not really, Lord Ravus. Noc— His Highness and I are friends from school.”

Ignis cut in before Noctis could. “You sell your marksmanship short, Prompto.”

Prompto went even redder, but before Ravus could press the line of questioning, Luna spoke. “Ravus, Prompto is the one who took in Pryna, when she was injured in Insomnia.”

Ravus’s expression lost a bit of its smugness at that. He nodded to Prompto. “I am sure my sister thanked you for such a service.”

“Y-yes, she wrote to me. Lord Ravus.”

Ignis gently kicked Noct’s good ankle. It would be improper for Ignis to interrupt again. _Your turn._

“I haven’t seen Pryna or Umbra here yet — are they around?” Noct asked.

“They are off on errands of their own, I’m afraid,” the Queen said. “They have been busy bringing back word of Starscourge infections in the area.”

“Starscourge — is that the illness you mentioned in your letter, Lady Lunafreya?” Noctis said to Luna, who nodded.

“Yes. It appears to be worsening; Mother has been traveling near-constantly,” the Princess said, eyes flickering to her mother. Ignis thought he caught concern there.

Noctis was frowning. “I hope I will not be keeping you from your work, Queen Sylva.”

The Queen smiled, and for the first time it reached her eyes. “My child, the Oracle’s work is to do the will of the gods. Long have I prayed you would seek solace here.”

Noctis nodded his thanks; he seemed momentarily unable to speak.

* * *

About an hour after dinner, they were all playing cards in the common room of their suite. Back in Insomnia, Gladio had been teaching them a variety of games he’d picked up from the Crownsguard; he hung around the training room and mess hall much more often than Ignis did. He was, predictably, winning, when someone knocked at the door.

Ignis rose to answer it. He thanked the Astrals that he had insisted they tidy up the mess of bags and clothes and belongings the others had left strewn everywhere. At least all the chaos was contained behind their closed doors.

He was even more thankful when he opened the door to reveal Lady Lunafreya, dressed down in a white sweater (cashmere, he thought) and black slacks.

“Luna,” Noct said, standing much more quickly than could have felt good. He was smiling widely, though. This was the first time they’d seen each other outside the formality of their welcome and dinner. He gestured to the table. “Want us to deal you in?”

“I would, but I’m afraid I don’t know many games. Mostly just solitaire," she admitted.

“Don’t let that stop you, Lady Lunafreya,” Gladio said. “We’ll teach you.”

“Yeah, you’ll be better than Noct after about one hand,” Prompto quipped, then blushed as Noct laughed. “Uh, Lady Lunafreya.”

“Please, just . . . Luna is fine,” she said, hesitating a moment before the nickname. But she smiled as she said it.

Rather than returning to his spot on the couch, Ignis took the second armchair opposite Gladio and swept up the cards to re-deal them out. No one protested at the abrupt end to their previous game. “Well, Luna, it will be no trouble to teach you the rules. But you should also know that all three of these barbarians play dirty.”

She laughed — surprised, bright — and followed Noctis’s lead, settling on the sofa next to him. “I’ll endeavor to keep up, then.”

Gladio explained the rules (he was the best teacher among them) and then they played a practice hand, which Prompto swept. Luna caught on quickly, at one point revealing an especially good hand with a crooked grin.

“It appears I’ve made the _card_ -inal sin of underestimating an opponent,” Ignis said, revealing a weaker hand and passing the cards she’d won to Luna.

“Ah, that’s right,” Luna said. “Noctis passes your puns along sometimes, you know.”

“Does he really?”

“Yes — come to think of it, it’s not fair, I have stories about you all from Noctis, but no stories about Noctis from you all.” Mischief glinted in her eyes.

“Oh man, where to even begin with this kid.” Gladio was grinning like a shark.

“Wait, wait, I feel like I’d like to know what exactly you’ve been telling Luna about us all this time before we get distracted roasting Noct all night,” Prompto protested.

“All night?” Noct laughed. “You’ve got that many?”

“Dude,” Prompto said, and a lot of meaning went into that one word.

“Yuletide festival, 743,” Ignis said quietly, and Gladio choked on the swig of water he’d been taking, gasping for air and laughter.

Noct went white. “You wouldn’t.”

“Well, now you have to,” Luna pressed.

“Absolutely, for the Princess,” Prompto agreed. “And also for me.”

Noct groaned and buried his face in his hands while Ignis launched into the story, and then Gladio took the next, and it went on like that until much later than was probably wise, but Ignis thought laughing until their cheeks hurt was worthwhile diplomacy.

* * *

The next morning, an attendant of the Queen’s arrived to review the schedule for the day with Ignis. He took notes; later, he’d go through and annotate them to ensure Noct arrived on time and properly dressed for each occasion.

This morning, Noctis was to see the Oracle.

Ignis’s throat tightened. They’d find out, soon, if it would work. According to King Regis, Queen Sylva had estimated that the process could take up to a month’s worth of time. He supposed that meant any improvement would likely be slow at first.

It had been so long, he was certain Noctis couldn’t be completely healed, but any measure of increased mobility would do wonders. Noctis had not seemed keen on speculation in the weeks leading up to their departure; Ignis sensed he feared disappointment, if there wasn’t much the Oracle could do.

Gladio would be accompanying Noctis, of course. Not only was he Prince’s Shield, he was also the most knowledgeable about the injury. It had been nearly three years since he’d begun studying under the Citadel’s physiotherapists.

They’d come a long way since the Shield had abandoned Noctis on the training room floor.

Ignis pushed those memories, from the days when the injuries were still fresh, from his mind as Gladio and Noctis headed out the door.

“Good luck,” he said to Noct, squeezing his shoulder. Noct nodded and took a deep breath as he followed Gladio out of the room. 

“So, what do we do today?” Prompto asked from the sofa behind him, with the clear implication of _please don’t leave me alone here._

Ignis smiled. “Well, I’ve heard the fields of sylleblossoms are not to be missed, if you’d like to bring your camera along.”

“Done,” Prompto said with a grin, jumping up to his feet.

“And then I’d like to stop by the library, if we’re permitted,” he warned. “I believe we’ll find more references to the Chosen King in the Oracle’s library than in Lucis. Or at least, different ones.”

“Sure thing,” Prompto said, unperturbed.

“Let’s be on our way, then.”

* * *

The sylleblossoms were, of course, a wonder. Prompto’s shutter clicked off like fast-beating heart, but Ignis privately thought the images alone would be a poor substitute for the sun-warmed smell of blossoms, for the feeling of a cool breeze that sent the whole field waving.

The library, which an attendant led them to readily when asked, was no less impressive. It was circular, like many of the rooms in the Manor, and five levels tall. There were stairs up to the other levels, but they were not complete floors; rather, circular corridors that wrapped around the wall, allowing access to tall shelves of books. Thin, arched windows stretched up to let in beams of sunlight, and dust motes floated golden in their rays.

The ground floor was mostly open, with tables and lamps set out for study, as well as some handsome leather sofas. Likely it was used as much for meetings and entertaining as it was for study.

He went to find a librarian to consult while Prompto wandered, snapping just as many photos as he had outside.

After an hour, he had a list compiled with references for further study and located a few tomes to get a feel for their usefulness. It was a solid start, but time to cut it short; Noct would likely be getting back to their rooms soon.

He was on the third floor, and he leaned over the wooden balcony to catch Prompto’s eye on the first. Prompto shot him a thumbs up.

When he turned back around to retrieve his list from the table, he almost ran into Ravus.

“Good afternoon,” Ravus said, as if Ignis hadn’t just almost flailed into him. He was unsmiling. “I trust you are finding the grounds to your liking?”

“Of course,” he replied with a slight bow. He had to take a step back in order to manage it without bumping into Ravus. “The sylleblossoms are as beautiful as everyone reports, and the library seems a treasure.”

“Indeed,” Ravus said, unsmiling, glancing at the list in Ignis’s hand. “Well, don’t let me keep you and your . . . friend.”

Ignis bowed again and went to find Prompto with worry creeping up the back of his neck. If he hadn't had the clear impression that the elder son of Tenebrae detested them before, he certainly did now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuletide, 743: Tiny Noct stuffs steamed brussels sprouts from the feast into his shirt sleeves to get out of eating them. Then, when he has to stand up to adorably say “Merry Yuletide and thank you all for coming” into the microphone as his bit for the festivities, it all comes tumbling out in front of everyone and he runs to hide under a table with no explanation.


	22. For a Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU ARE ALL MY FAVORITES, thank you so much for following the story this far. Of all the things I didn't know when I set out to write this, the longest thing I've ever written, how fun it is to have people enjoy it along with me is number one.

Noctis woke up in an unfamiliar bed, wondering why the movement of the train on tracks had stopped. Then, his mind sputtered to life and helpfully supplied: _Tenebrae_.

That would explain why this bed was so comfortable. If he never slept on a train again, it would be too soon.

He checked the time on his phone and dragged himself up to sitting. They had an hour before he was supposed to meet with Queen Sylva, and nerves twisted in his gut, but he stretched forward before he could examine them closely. Fighting against the tightness made it hard to think hard about anything else.

By the time he was ready, dressed in a sweatshirt and athletic shorts per the Oracle’s request, everyone else was already hanging out in the common room of their suite. He mumbled something about a morning as he and Gladio headed out into the marble-tiled halls.

“How long would you sleep, if we just never woke you up?” Gladio asked.

“Try it sometime and find out.”

“Not sure any amount of beauty rest is gonna fix your face, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Their destination was a room he’d never seen before. Guards outside signaled the Oracle’s presence, and Noct waved as they passed through into a room tiled with mosaics. Paintings from religious history hung on the walls. A fountain babbled soothingly in the corner.

The Queen was waiting there, reading something at a small desk in the corner of the room.

“Prince Noctis,” Queen Sylva said, rising to stand with her hands spread in a gesture of welcome. “And Gladiolus.”

The Queen was about the age of his father, Noctis, knew, but she seemed much younger. Her hair was still soft gold, only threaded through with strands of silver-white, all braided into a complicated-looking style. She had a kind face. He could see a lot of Luna there (or, he supposed, the other way around). Today, the towering crystal crown had been replaced by a simple circlet, and long brocade mantle was belted over a white silk blouse and wool trousers. The sleeves of her mantle came down to just above her elbows, almost as if she’d rolled them up to get to work.

“Queen Sylva. Good morning.” Noctis bowed, as did Gladio behind him. His father would not have, as a foreign ruler on equal footing — but Noctis was an heir, still bound to deference.

The Queen’s eyes crinkled as her smile reached them. “Good morning, Prince Noctis. Ready to see what the gods may do for you?”

He and Gladio made eye contact for a moment before he turned back to the Queen with a smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Lady Lunafreya bid me pass on a good morning from her, as well. We had word of another outbreak of the Scourge in Ulwaat, so she is headed there with Gentiana this morning,” she said, a note of pride in her voice. She gestured to a padded wooden bench that reminded Noct of the physiotherapists’ office back at the Citadel. He climbed up to sit; Gladio took an armchair facing the bench. “She’ll be home in the evening.”

“Has Luna been doing that on her own often?” Noct asked. In their letters, she’d only ever mentioned accompanying her mother to heal people from the Scourge.

The Queen shook her head. “Only in the past few weeks. It’s not without risk, but Lunafreya has proven herself more than capable — and if things worsen, it will be good for the both of us to be used to the strain.”

Noct nodded, and something like envy panged within his chest, but he pushed it down.

“I have all the notes from your medical team within Insomnia, but there was also a mention of magical injury,” she said. “Can you tell me a bit about that?”

“I can access other powers, but not healing,” he said. “Not even to create potions — my dad loaded us up with his own before we left, but they all rely on his power.”

She nodded. “Truthfully, I’m not sure whether this will help with that or not. It’s uncharted territory. But it won’t hurt to ask the gods.”

Noct nodded. He’d take whatever divine help they wanted to throw his way.

“I’ll be able to give you a better idea how things might progress after this morning. But I can assure you this is not a painful process. I’ll have you lay back, and then it will be a matter of prayer. If my touch is ever uncomfortable, please speak up — you will likely have to interrupt me, and that is not a problem.”

“Is there anything I need to do?” he asked, throat suddenly dry. She’d just said it wasn’t going to hurt, but just laying down on his back, trying not to fidget, wasn’t going to be _fun_.

“Just try to relax,” she said, pressing a firm hand to his chest to lever him back onto the table. “If you fall asleep, so much the better.”

Gladio huffed quietly; he was used to Noct falling asleep wherever, whenever.

But Noct didn’t fall asleep.

He listened to the Queen’s voice as she began some sort of prayer, or invocation, or . . . something . . . but he couldn’t understand the language. She pressed warm hands into his knee, then switched to a hand on his forehead, and he closed his eyes and tried to just keep his breathing steady.

He didn’t feel anything changing. The small of his back still ached. His knee was throbbing at about the same level it had been all morning. But he was having an easier time relaxing than he would have ever imagined possible, considering how objectively weird this was. His thoughts drifted. Time slipped away.

Eventually, and he had no idea how long it had been, Sylva stopped murmuring. She took his hand, helped pull him up to sitting, and looked him over thoughtfully.

“You’ll be tired today,” she said, looking tired herself, and then turned to Gladio. “Make sure he rests as much as he needs to. It will help the healing process.”

“Of course, Queen Sylva,” Gladio said, rising with a half-bow, but not before smoothly vanishing his novel back into the armiger. Noct giggled and went to stand.

“Woah!” She caught his arm before he could slide off the bench, and suddenly he was really, really dizzy and kind of warm all over and sleeping sounded pretty great even though he’d only been up an hour but he was pretty sure the Oracle had just signed his sleep permission slip and he felt kind of floaty now that he really thought about it —

“And you’ll be weak, probably for the first couple days, but then it will subside,” she said. “I apologize, I should have mentioned that first. Gladiolus, there’s a wheelchair in the antechamber if you wouldn’t mind.”

“No, i’ssall good,” Noct protested, waving an arm to show how good it was. “I don’t need a — what?”

“It would make me feel better if you used it, just in case,” she said. She had a really nice voice. She laughed. “Thank you, Noctis.” He’d said that out loud? “Yes, and let’s get you to bed.”

Gladio’s warm arms scooped him up and settled him in the chair.

“Is that . . . normal?” he heard Gladio ask, from a long way away.

“It’s not uncommon, with such an old injury,” she said. “It’s his system reacting to divine interference, recalibrating — he should be back to —”

He fell asleep listening to her voice. It was a nice way to fall asleep.

* * *

The Queen was right: after a couple mornings, he stopped getting jelly legs and reality stopped turning to mush.

He wasn’t really sure it was doing anything else, though. He still hurt — maybe less? But it was hard to tell, when it was pretty normal for him to have a week (or day) where his pain ricocheted from a background 2 to an omnipresent 6 that made thinking hard. And the weather was nice; it wasn’t unusual for him to have a few days with lower pain when the weather was nice.

He definitely didn’t seem any more flexible when Gladio ran him through his exercises. But maybe the disappointment in Gladio’s eyes every time was in his head, too.

Maybe.

* * *

Luna came by their suite every night.

They saw her at dinner, too, but those were formal affairs. Noct thought maybe they’d be more relaxed if it weren’t for Ravus’s looming presence, inquiring into the state of the Lucian countryside and the mood within Insomnia over such an _unfavorable_ peace treaty. He wanted to know how the Lucians could trust the Empire to keep their end of the bargain. He wanted to know a lot of things that made Ignis tense beside him and which Noct couldn’t really give good answers to. He’d had dealt with political assholes before, but never as a guest in a foreign court, and it was exhausting. For all of them. He’d caught Prompto giving himself a pep talk before dinner in the bathroom mirror one night.

They weren’t alone any longer, either; various Tenebraen government officials and religious figure-heads were often in presence. On a good night, they were talkative and the rest of them could just eat and make appropriate noises of agreement.

So to see Luna in the evenings was something different all together. They were all relaxed, having _fun_ together, hanging out like the barely-adults they were supposed to be.

Gentiana joined them once or twice, hovering serenely, eyes fixed on Luna with a soft smile. It should have been awkward — and Prompto had definitely done an actual spit-take when Luna introduced her as a divine Messenger of the actual Astrals — but the woman radiated a feeling of calm contentment. She seemed to draw joy from Luna’s laughter. Luna’s smile. Luna’s happiness.

Noct knew Luna was lonely.

She’d written it outright several times over the years. Hell, they’d bonded over it at first: the lonely Princess of Tenebrae and the bed-ridden Prince of Lucis, each with a single parent, one brother(-ish, in his case), and lofty expectations to their name.

But as Noctis had grown up, even as he’d lost closeness with his father, he’d somehow acquired three friends.

Ignis, of course, had always been there: a brother, family. At some point, however they’d lost their childlike ability to play together, read together, be together. Noct was Ignis’s job. He wasn’t an easy job. But at some _other_ point, they’d come back together, no longer bound by old patterns of nagging and chiding, but by friendship again.

Gladio, not even a year older than Ignis but who had always loomed larger, had always seemed impossibly far-ahead to ever catch up with. Now, though . . . they could joke together. Face a problem together. When Gladio scored a good hit and Noct said so, it seemed to mean something, rather than always the other way around.

And Prompto, who had crashed into Noct’s life with a slap on his shoulder and the ability to talk about nothing and everything endless hours, had run away with the “best friend” slot in a record time that would’ve made his track coach proud.

Luna’s world had grown, too, of course. Gentiana had gone from a parent-like figure to a cherished companion, that was clear, but Noct was pretty sure Gentiana didn’t laugh so hard she snorted at Luna’s razor-sharp humor or argue about whether pretending your audience was naked actually helped anything when you had to talk in front of people (Luna maintained picturing them all in silly hats was by far superior). And Queen Sylva trusted her daughter proudly, fiercely, even with hard things, in a way that required him to tamp down his own jealousy.

But Ravus, meanwhile, had grown bitter. It wasn’t hard to see the fault lines between the siblings. And Luna did not seem to have any peers within the Manor. Officials came and went, servants and guards took care of things, but it was not exactly lively here. Tension hung in the air like the stillness before a storm.

So. The mornings he spent with Queen Sylva, drowsing beneath her warm hands, calm voice, and kind face. He felt like he’d known her a lot longer than he had — like he had some kind of memory of her, though they’d never met before.

But Luna came every night, and they played games around the coffee table. Or they all hung out and talked.

On the third night, four days before the treaty signing, Luna took them out to go stargazing.

They watched the night sky over fields of blue sylleblossoms that waved softly in the moonlight. And then she taught them a game: pick a single star, stare up straight, and spin till you were about to fall over, then try and walk straight back to the group.

Gladio went first, and when he turned back to them, grinning like the cocky bastard he was, she’d shone the flashlight straight in his face and he’d dropped straight to the ground with a “WOAH” and a thud and they’d laughed so hard _Ignis_ actually had tears of laughter rolling down his face.

They all took turns (except him, but watching was good enough) and Luna clearly had the advantage of practice over her city-born guests, but she still pitched to the side when she made it back to the group and Noct caught her before she could tip, set her back upright laughing and breathless.

* * *

About a week after they’d arrived, the day before the treaty was to be signed back in Insomnia, something seemed to settle in Noct’s chest. Instead of napping in the afternoon like he had the first few days, he was sprawled out on the couch, scratching idly at Umbra’s ears. He’d nicked a book from Gladio and held it up over his head to read. It held his focus. He felt relaxed.

When Ignis and Prompto arrived back in the room from their morning trip to the library, they both came up short. He lifted a lazy hand to Prompto’s “’Sup,” and his friend went to go take an afternoon shower, but Ignis just stood there by the door until Noct felt his eyes on him and put the book down to meet his gaze.

Ignis cleared his throat. “You look comfortable.”

Noct broke into a wide grin. “Weird, right?”

“ _Good_ ,” Ignis said, with feeling.

“It is good,” he echoed. Then he sat up and gestured magnanimously to the couch beside him. “Come tell me about what you’ve been researching all week.”

“If you’re up for a walk, it would be easier to show you,” Ignis said.

“Sure, Specs,” he said, and Ignis automatically held out a hand to help him up off the couch. Umbra whined at the absence of scratches behind his ears, but followed them into the hall. It seemed like he knew where they were going and the way there, and Noctis wondered, not for the first time, at how much _dog_ and how much _divine being_ went into Umbra and his sister.

They were halfway there when they heard Ravus — Ravus first, because his voice was louder and upset, but then Luna, arguing, behind the door of the formal parlor where the Queen and her family had first received them.

They shouldn’t have stopped to listen. By silent agreement, they did. Both of of them froze mid-step.

“—that I was against him coming in the first place.” Ravus.

“I could hardly forget, with the way you have been treating them all,” Luna replied.

“And you think they deserve deference? A weak, crippled prince and his childhood friends?”

“He is not weak.” Luna. Angry.

“He is broken and he is untested. He will fall at the first challenge,” Ravus spat. “And then, will it have been worth it? To have welcomed the heir of the Empire’s enemy?”

“It is only because of the peace—”

“The name of Tenebrae should be nowhere on that treaty,” Ravus snapped. “We should not be involved.”

“You know full well it is the Oracle’s duty to stand by the Chosen King. Sooner or later, we will stand with Noctis.”

“Do you not see him, sister?” He sounded desperate. “It is a mistake. The King of Lucis was mistaken. Mother is mistaken. Or else the Crystal was, or the gods themselves, but that boy is not worthy.”

Silence. Long, silence. Noctis and Ignis caught each others’ eyes, barely breathing. His heart was pounding loudly; surely someone would hear it thudding.

And then, Luna, so quiet and accusing Noctis could barely hear it: “And who _is_ worthy, Ravus?”

Umbra brushed past his legs, Ignis tugged at his arm, and they kept walking. He thanked every Astral in turn that they were already at the end of the hallway when Ravus stormed out, going the other way. Noct let out the breath he’d been holding; there was no way he had seen them.

They did not speak or stop again until they made it to the library.

Wooden doors ornately carved with figures of Oracles past guarded the entrance, but they stood open now, to the circular room within. As soon as they walked in, his gaze went up — the soaring room appeared as one vast bookshelf, though there was a balcony wrapping around each level, and moveable ladders for fetching books. Tall, narrow windows, perhaps five feet wide but reaching up almost five stories, ended in pointed arches and let light stream down in beams. A brass chandelier hung from the dome of the ceiling, sparkling in the late morning sunlight.

Noct bee-lined for a pair of leather armchairs as far away from the door as possible, and Ignis trailed after him.

It wasn’t until they were both sitting that he let out the snort of amusement that had been building within him.

Ignis’s face broke into a wide grin. “It’s been some time since we snuck around corridors listening at doors.”

“What a dick,” Noct said, shaking his head and taking in a deep breath. It wasn’t fun to hear that the Prince of Tenebrae thought he was completely useless, but he couldn’t help the thrill of eavesdropping. Or getting away with eavesdropping. “Guess we know his deal now.”

Ignis straightened, looking serious once more. “Noct, you know that he’s wrong, don’t you?”

Noct made a vague gesture. “I mean, I get where he’s coming from. I don’t exactly inspire confidence.” He held up a hand to prevent Ignis from cutting him short. “But it’s not like I won an arm-wrestling contest to prove my worthiness. Luna said the gods’ll help me, and so will she. Whatever it is, it’s her destiny, too. So I guess I have to trust they’ll make sure I have what I need.”

“Has she said anything more about that, in particular?”

“Just that the Oracle — which will be Luna, when she ascends — makes covenants with the gods for the king, and then it’s up to him — me — to win their favor. But no one really knows how.”

“Hmm. Speaking of which, let me fetch a few things to show you.” Ignis adjusted his glasses as he stood.

“I’ll come with,” Noct said, standing to follow. “This place is pretty cool, huh.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it? And efficiently organized, as well.” Leave it to Ignis to have admired the catalog as much as the architecture.

They headed up one of the twin staircases that wrapped around the curve of the wall, and which let out on the second floor balcony. The view of the library was even better up a little higher; the floor spread before them, the walls of books reaching upwards. It smelled like leather and parchment, like his father’s office back home. The parquet floor of the ground level was punctuated by heavy wooden tables set with glass lamps.

“Here,” Ignis said, gesturing to a table. “The librarian told me it would be easier if I kept out the materials I was referencing in one spot — of course, they cannot be checked out, but it’s easier than putting them away and retrieving them daily.”

The books on the table were all old with crumbling spines, yellowed pages, and watermarked covers. “Is this The Insomnia Times bestseller list from like, 605?”

“Some are a bit older than that, even,” Ignis enthused, sliding to sit. “Here, let me show you —”

Ignis reviewed what he’d found so far. Much of it built on the little they already knew, but maybe referenced the prophecy with a twist of language, or clarified that Bahamut had spoken the words, or elaborated on the role of the Sword-Sworn. More interesting to Noct were the references Ignis had discovered to more tombs of Lucian kings, including the one Luna had written of in the quarry of Fodina Caestino, as well as notes on ancient Solheim ruins in the Fallgrove.

“Good work, Specs,” he said when Ignis wrapped it up. In all honesty, he didn’t know how much of what he’d just heard would help them, but if Ignis thought so, then he was usually right. If nothing else, Ignis always seemed to feel better when had a plan in place. “Maybe when we get back home, I’ll try to get more insight from my dad. He can’t stay pissed at me forever, right?”

“I daresay he could, but I doubt he will,” Ignis said, meeting his eyes. Noct knew his nonchalance failed to fool his adviser. “He worries about you a great deal.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Noct said with a sigh.

“Indeed. But perhaps once there is no more threat of war on Insomnia’s doorstep, he’ll be able to relinquish some of that fear.”

“I hope so,” Noct said, watching dust motes float through the sunlight pouring in through the tall window, drifting peacefully in unseen air currents. “Sometimes, it just feels like he’s never gotten over what happened to me, you know? Like I’m still 14.”

“He’ll see, in time,” Ignis said. “I think he does see already. But fear can be a powerful force.”

“Have you heard anything from back home?”

“Very little at all since we left, and nothing since we left the continent,” Ignis said. “Communication is surprisingly difficult between here and Insomnia.”

“You’re telling me. I’ve been writing Luna via magical dog for years.”

“Perhaps we should ask Umbra if he’s up for a trip.”

Noct laughed. “I’m okay with being out of touch for a while. Gotta live it up while we still can.”

* * *

Noctis woke up feeling good.

He sat up. Rolled out of bed. Stood up. Stretched. And in doing so, he didn’t feel like he’d taken a chunk of limited energy and traded it for the simple act of getting up. He’d just . . . done it.

As he stretched, he could still feel the aches beneath the surface, but when he stood, he felt fine.

_Fine._

Really, actually fine, for the first time in four years.

He went to wash up and he couldn’t help but test the feeling. And yeah, it still hurt when he stood in the shower too long. He could hold his knee up higher towards his chest in a stretch, he thought, and it was still tight. But then he’d go back to standing, and things just felt better, and he had to lean over the sink and breathe in deeply to stop himself from crying.

Because this was the thing he wanted to much, so deeply, that he hadn’t been able to dare hope for it.

Not to beat anyone in a race, not to be able to abandon his cane forever, just the ability to live without having to give so much of his energy to coping with pain. Even if that feeling faded as the day went on. Just a break, just _better_ for some snatches of time, would be amazing. Was amazing.

Besides that, back home, it was the day of the treaty signing, and his heart couldn’t help but lift to think of the burdens that would finally rise from his dad’s shoulders. They would get a lot farther, when he got home. He’d apologize. Maybe his dad would, too, but even if not . . . he could live with it. They could try again.

When he was finally finished getting ready, Gladio was out and waiting. He flashed Noct a grin. “Ready, Princess?”

“Sure thing. Prompto and Iggy up already?”

“Yeah, in the library again, the nerds.”

“You’re the one always reading, hypocrite.”

“Maybe I’m a nerd, too.”

They made their way through the corridors growing increasingly familiar, peaceful in the early morning light, not even running into the usual guards.

And then that peace was shattered by the sound of exploding glass, violent shaking beneath them, heat that ripped through the corridor.

Gladio tried to throw an arm forward and hold him back, but he rushed forwards, towards the noise and rounded the corner towards the Manor’s entry.

Imperial troops — some human, some MT — were storming the entry, marching heedlessly over broken glass.

The walls were burning.

Gladio yanked him backwards, and they fled back down the corridor, Noct not even having time to register that he was actually running as Gladio pulled him along, until something — _bullets_ — began whizzing past them. Gladio threw them both through the first available door.

It was the formal sitting room.

The Queen was there.

They found her on the floor, blood pooled beneath her, blood on the white of her shift, guards dead beside her. Her eyes were empty. Blood trickled down the pale skin of her cheek from the corner of its mouth. Noctis surged forwards with an elixir in hand, pressed it into her cold fingers — _oh gods no, no_ — and nothing happened.

The Queen did not stir. 

The elixir gave off no shimmering green light.

Noctis’s heart had dropped out of his body. He summoned a phoenix down, pressed it into her unmoving chest.

Nothing.

Gladio was pulling him away, pleading at him, but it felt like his hearing had turned to static. Then he noticed Gladio’s arm was bleeding — bullet graze? — and he wrenched his arm away and summoned another potion, pressed it to Gladio’s arm, and nothing, nothing, _nothing_.

“My dad,” Noctis said, head and heart spinning wildly. “My dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops all the other shoes I've been hoarding*
> 
> [tumblr?](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/every-lemon) [twitter?](https://twitter.com/everylemon1)


	23. Free Fall

Noct got three heartbeats to stare at the dull potion, no magic within, and to viscerally deny everything it meant _(King’s magic can’t work if the King’s dead)_ and to reject the reality that Queen Sylva _(Luna’s mom)_ lay dead on the floor before him. Because none of that could be real.

Three heartbeats amounted to: No. Not true. Can’t be.

Three heartbeats, and then the room exploded.

Something blunt smashed into him and knocked him backwards. Heat roared against his skin and stole his breath for a moment, until he found his feet again, gasping and stumbling back to where Gladio had been.

Through the haze of smoke and obliterated plaster dust, he saw MTs shambling past the wreckage of the wall. And then came the Tenebraen guard, all in bronze and blue, clashing with the uncanny soldiers. Someone was shouting for Ravus, shouting about the Queen.

Gladio grabbed his arm and yanked him down and out of the room. “You say if I need to carry you,” he yelled over the chaos.

Maybe Ravus and the soldiers from Tenebrae would be able to hold back the MTs, maybe —

There were Imperial soldiers in the hallway. Human ones.

Gladio was still pulling him along until something skittered down the marble hallway, between their feet, and they both jerked away in different directions before it hit the wall and exploded in flames between them — shit, the Imperials were going to burn the whole manor down.

_They were going to burn the whole manor down._

“Noct, GO!” Gladio roared from across the hall, and he turned to protest only to see twin blades coming down towards him, the narrowed eyes of an Imperial captain behind them, and it was by the barest moment that he phased, warped down the hall, boots pounding after him, and he wasn’t fast enough —

Noctis threw ice magic down the corridor in front of him. He controlled it so that it was thin, dispersed. Every surface frosted over: ice slicked across the floor, icicles bloomed from the ceiling, and portraits whited out with frost crystals. He jumped into a skidding slide across the thin ice, and then warped out past the end of it once he began to slow.

Behind him, he could hear thuds as soldiers slipped on the ice, and it would have been funny (he’d known slick tile was a bitch for four long years now) except that nothing could be funny right now, and possibly not ever again.

Damnit. He’d lost track of Gladio, and he couldn’t go back the way he’d come.

He lurched forward as fast as he dared. He needed to find the others. 

* * *

Gladio swung his greatsword into armored flesh with unmitigated fury. Noct was being chased and he hadn’t even caught sight of the direction he’d headed.

But at least the dumbass had fled.

The dumbass who was maybe now the King of Lucis.

Cold dread surged up through his spine, but he didn’t have time to think about the implications. He traded fear for wrath. For focus. He couldn't fail now.

The manor was being overrun. They needed to end this and get Noct to safety. He couldn’t get bogged in skirmishes with endless MT reinforcements on the way.

He ran like hell towards the library, as fast as he could, which was too fucking slow. Prompto and Ignis had been there; would Noct have tried to find them?

When he skidded through the heavy wooden doors that led into the tall, circular room, he almost ran into Ignis and Prompto. They must have just heard the commotion. It had been mere minutes since the attack had begun, somehow, though everything was upside down now.

MTs were emerging at the end of the long hallway to the library. Gladio slammed the doors closed. “Grab a table, we need to barricade this,” he barked.

“What’s going on? Where’s Noct?” Ignis demanded, even as he and Prompto hefted a heavy table towards the door. Gladio helped them slam it down beneath, and they threw chairs haphazardly around it, tried to lever things up. He wasn’t sure how long it would last.

“Imperial invasion. The Queen is dead. And Noct thinks the King—" he cut off with a shudder. "And our healing supplies aren’t working.”

Ignis swayed on the spot, bracing himself on the table he’d just flipped over onto the door. Prompto's eyes went wide.

Gladio gave them no time to process any of it. “Noct was getting away. I thought he’d be here.”

Mechanical bodies thudded against the door, shaking against their makeshift barricade. Then came the sound of heavy hatchets. Splintering wood. Damn things were silent and creepy as hell, but effective; they were breaking through too fast.

“We should be out there, looking for Noct,” Ignis said, gaze sweeping the room to look for another way out.

“Noct will come back here for us,” Prompto said with certainty. He'd climbed up onto a table, summoned his gun, and pulled the trigger to fire towards the door a split-second after the head of an axe-wielding MT emerged through splintered wood, sending up sparks and black smoke.

Ignis was shaking his head, even as he summoned a weapon. “Prompto, Noctis has a duty to ensure his own safety first. All of us have sworn—”

“I’m not telling you _I want him to come for us_ , I’m telling you _he’s going to come for us,_ ” Prompto snapped. Another MT went down as bullets punched through its armor.

“Kid’s right, Noct’s an idiot,” said Gladio as he finished tying off the makeshift bandage to staunch the bleeding from where a bullet had grazed his arm earlier. Should be fine, but no reason to risk anything. “So we gotta be ready when he gets here.”

Ignis’s mouth was a grim line, but he nodded once in acceptance.

Gladio jerked his head back to indicate the stairs. “Prompto, get up higher. We have our best shot if you stay at a range as long as possible. We’ll hold ‘em off down here.”

“Okay.” To his credit, Prompto’s voice didn’t shake. They’d make a true Guard out of him yet, Gladio thought.

If they survived today.

“The door won’t hold,” Ignis said. “Prompto, now.”

Prompto sent one final bullet sailing, jumped off the table, and sprinted towards the stairs. His heavy boots struck the steps even above the noise of MTs hacking through the doors, throwing themselves against the gaps.

Gladio was tempted to surge forwards, towards the door, to start taking them down, but it would be better to give Prompto the few extra seconds — he glanced and saw the gunner level a grim salute from the third level, handgun traded for a rifle steadied against the railing.

In the second his back was turned, the MTs slammed through the door with a sound of wood breaking like lightning. 

Gladio roared and charged forward with his greatsword, slamming directly into the two MTs at the front with bone-jarring force. Prompto’s shots cracked from behind him, and Ignis had his polearm out, focusing on keeping them back, bottlenecked at the door with Gladio. Then gunfire erupted through the door, and they both ducked and rolled to opposite sides, out of the line of sight from the hallway.

They couldn’t quite keep up with the onslaught this way, though they kept mowing the damn things down — mechanical bodies were breaking through into the middle of the room, which meant they were going to be trapped on either side of the doors — and he stepped back, swung out, trying to get more space to swing, he was being hemmed in, this was bad —

The MT in front of him went down with a blade through its middle. A flash of blue: Noctis, who warp-struck the other MT that had been boxing Gladio in, then phased past to reach Ignis and help him off the floor. The adviser had blood running down his face from a gash in his cheek. 

_He’s going to come for us._

Stupid, stupid kid.

They had to get him out of here. But how?

“Get _down_ ,” Noct screamed, and Gladio and Ignis jumped back as the Prince sent lightning crackling from his fingertips back through the hallway. MTs fell in a tangle of jerking limbs and glowing red eyes flickering out like dying campfire embers.

More were already crawling over them. But then: Ravus.

The Prince of Tenebrae came running down the corridor with his blade delivering death. Blood was spattered on his white coat and across his cheek, vivid against his paleness. He was snarling, mismatched eyes otherworldly with fury as Imperials fell before him. This was swordsmanship of the highest order.

Relief flooded Gladio. He began to call out to Ravus, but when he turned, he caught sight of the murder in his stare. His fury was trained on Noctis.

Noctis, who was skidding backwards out of a warp not ten yards from the Prince of Tenebrae.

Gladio yelled Noct’s name, abandoning MTs and sprinting towards Ravus, desperate to intercept. _Shit shit shit shit —_

Noct glanced up, then back at where Gladio was staring, and it was such a fucking close thing that he managed to warp. Not onto anything, just up, and then to the third-floor balcony. He hit the balustrade messily, crashing straight through it rather than materializing on on the other side, but he didn’t fall.

Ravus was already charging for the stairs.

Gladio threw himself in his path.

Steel met steel, the thinner blade of Ravus’s sword pushing back against Gladio’s heavy greatsword with surprising force.

“What're you thinking?” Gladio choked out, bracing to block the parry that had to be coming. Shit. Ravus was older, stronger, more skilled.

“This is your doing,” he snarled. “They are here for _your_ wretched prince. I will give them what they want and buy peace for my kingdom.”

Ravus moved and Gladio desperately hoped he was quick enough to block — but no, it wasn’t a parry, it was a dodge, out of the way of Prompto’s bullets raining down.

Ravus was past him so fast, sprinting for the stairs, and Gladio knew there was no catching up. He didn’t even know where Noct was any longer. He swung back into the fray with the MTs; Ignis had switched to daggers against a particularly lethal looking unit that had twin knives of its own, and Gladio smashed into its torso with steel.

“Iggy, a plan,” he begged, swinging around to be back to back with the tactician.

“We need to keep the path out the door as clear as possible," Ignis said. "And then be ready to seize the opportunity."

* * *

Noct struggled to his feet. He’d crashed through a whole section of balcony on the third level, leaving splintered wood and jagged, broken balusters in his wake, but he staggered towards where Prompto was firing on the enemies coming through the doors.

He grabbed Prompto’s arm and, without warning, warped with him down to the second floor on the opposite side of the library — still up and out of the way, but below where Ravus was emerging onto the third floor.

He didn’t stick around to apologize for leaving Prompto vomiting onto the ground, but warped straight back out into the open air of the atrium, to catch Ravus’s eye, and then up to the fifth floor because if Ravus went back down he’d cut through Prompto to reach him. This time, he landed cleanly, like Berytius had taught him. His mind was spinning, trying to keep up. He sunk down for a moment to catch his breath and his magic.

He needed Ravus to see him, keep chasing him, keep him away from his friends because none of them were a match for the Oracle’s son.

And where was Luna?

She’d been out that morning, he thought, but he didn’t know, and . . .

Steel, whistling towards him. Ravus. Too fast. He blocked, but the force of the blow sent him flying backwards. He hit the wall, cracking the horizontal shelf he’d hit with his shoulder, sending books and pages flying and tumbling down from dangerous heights.

The phase was instinctual. (It was Berytius’s voice in his head: ”Whenever you’re knocked down, phase first thing, before you bother gathering your wits.”) When he turned the phase into a roll, he saw Ravus’s blade through the shimmering afterimage of his throat.

Ravus wrenched the blade out of the floorboards to block as Noctis surged forward (Gladio would kill him for failing to take advantage of the opening), and the impact of steel on steel jarred through Noct’s arm and shoulder.

“Are you pleased my mother lies dead?” Ravus spat, slashing relentlessly, and Noct could feel himself tiring too fast, but he didn’t stop phasing, warping back, his only advantage. “Pleased with the crown of a fallen kingdom?”

Ravus turned the block into a smooth parry that Noct very barely blocked. He was no match for Ravus, he could not win this fight, he needed to flee.

“No,” he choked out, and he could feel stasis threatening to sweep him under, feel his stamina running out — but he dismissed his blade and slammed into Ravus with a fistful of lightning that took him by surprise, sent him twitching and jerking onto the ground.

Stasis snared Noctis like a net, dragging every muscle down. He needed to get down, breathe, recover, but he didn’t have time. He was blindly stumbling away knowing that the weak spell he’d managed wouldn’t be enough to hold Ravus down for long. He struggled towards the stairs.

He was almost quick enough.

Faster than he would have believed possible, Ravus was rushing back towards him again. When he summoned his sword to block the blow from above, Ravus ducked beneath it and rammed him full-force with his shoulder.

Noctis crashed through window behind him, breath knocked out, glass shattering, falling, outside through clear blue sky towards the earth and all he could do was throw the knife, just as cleanly as Ignis had taught him, and pray —

He warped and hit the ground with a hard jolt.

Pushing himself up, with jagged glass digging into his palms, he raised a shaky head to see he’d warped back into the library. He'd crashed out of the window at from the fifth story and warped back through it onto the ground floor.

He’d probably been a second away from being a smear on the pavement outside.

Fire was spreading through the library at this point, licking up shelves and consuming books much too fast. They had to get out. They had to get out and find Luna, make sure she was okay. Smoke was making it hard to breathe.

Ignis hauled him to his feet and pushed him towards the door. “Noct, go!”

The least he could do was draw everyone away from his friends before he sank into oblivion. So he warped as far as he dared, out just past the doors and into the hallway.

Gunfire cracked, bullets chipped marble at his feet.

He staggered forward in his best imitation of a run, and then: Luna.

Luna was running towards him, past the flames beginning to consume the hallway. She wielded the Oracle’s trident, held high, determination written in the set of her jaw and the furrow of her brow. She was bloody, but seemed uninjured. She had clearly fought her way to this point.

And he tried.

He reached out a hand to tell her to get back, his mouth formed a useless “NO,” but she saw, she knew, she was coming near to protect _him_.

A bullet whizzed just past him, and a spray of blood took her by the throat and slammed her to the ground.

His world crashed.

He whipped backwards, and he could see Ravus on the second-floor balcony opposite the hallway, holding Prompto’s rifle, face a mask of horror — he probably hadn't even seen his sister behind Noctis — and where was Prompto? — but he sank to the ground beside Luna.

“Luna, Luna,” he choked out, trying desperately to staunch the blood from her neck. She was choking on blood. He smashed a useless potion into her hand — _nothing, nothing_ — and flames began dancing up the edge of her dress.

He punched the ground and ice magic shot outward from his fist in a fractal of frost, cold like Luna was turning so fast, too fast, too much blood. But the flames flickered out around them.

Ravus was cutting through MTs to get to her, to fall to his knees with a scream of agony beside his sister, calling her name, pleading wounded apologies as if they would close the hole in her throat.

No.

No.

_Not Luna._

The wound at her neck bled sluggishly beneath his fingers as her heart slowed, slowed . . . 

Noctis reached within for a thread of golden light.

He doubled over with pain when he reached towards the path that led to the Crystal's healing, to a door that had been slammed shut years ago. But he did not stop. He pushed onward towards it, begging the door to open. Just open. He pressed on it, threw all the weight of his will against it.

What use were these powers, if he could not use them to save the people he loved?

He did not let go, though it was agony burning from within, muscle-deep, bone-deep, in his marrow, in his very being but he would not stop.

He just had to last the next moment, just last the next second, he was going to shatter from within but he just had to last — the next — because without Luna, there was no — 

In the detailed map of his nerve endings that the pain carved through him, he could _feel_ the healing Queen Sylva had given him pressed against his leg and wrapped around his back.

He reached out to it, heedless of fresh pain it ripped through him, and he slammed that against the door, too — _take it, take anything_ — and Luna shuddered to stillness beneath his hands. Ravus was screaming as if he'd been stabbed through the heart.

A door within him swung open.

Light.

Golden light, warm and heady, flooded his senses and filled him, but he would not let it touch his own pain. He poured it out through his palms with force that felt like it would rip him apart.

Through the pain he could feel it filling Luna with life, knitting together the wound, replenishing lost blood, causing breath to fill her lungs with a rush and a gasp before it settled into steady, even beats of her heart. He held on for the space of three heartbeats, just to be sure.

When he let go of the light, he plunged into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't thank y'all enough for the encouragement so far.
> 
> If you have a second to help cheer me across the finish line (or yell at me, that's cool too), it will help me stick the landing ;) Hmm, how 'bout we wrap things up on Saturday, sound good?


	24. No Turning Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Long and self-indulgent final note:** Wow. Thank you all so much for going on this journey with me, and for all the encouragement along the way. I've grown so much as a writer over the past ~75k words, and that just wouldn't have been possible without you all. THANK YOU.
> 
> Wanna keep me writing? Send me some requests! You can [ask me on Tumblr](https://every-lemon.tumblr.com/ask), DM me @everylemon1 on [my sad Twitter](https://twitter.com/everylemon1), or drop some ideas in the comments. ('Cause like, y'all know my drill by now, right? Friendship forever, action, adventure, angst, humor, nothin' shippy please.)
> 
> If you missed them, there are three deleted/alternate scenes on Tumblr: [Good Advice,](https://every-lemon.tumblr.com/post/642695744806076416/good-advice-deleted-scene) [an alternate scene where Prompto calls Noctis a trash panda,](https://every-lemon.tumblr.com/post/640753097764978688/its-not-a-deleted-scene-its-an-alternate-scene) and [Noctis waking up after the Marilith attack.](https://every-lemon.tumblr.com/post/639946820506746880/thought-id-toss-up-this-deleted-scene-that)
> 
> FINALLY, I extremely appreciate the work of [A Guide to Writing Disabled Characters](https://cripplecharacters.tumblr.com/), as well as [Writing Excuses](https://writingexcuses.com/2019/11/24/14-47-writing-characters-with-physical-disabilities/) and a plethora of other amazing resources out there to help us all write better, truer characters.

Once again.

Once again, Ignis sat in a chair next to Noctis’s bedside, watching the rise and fall of his chest, tracing the paleness of cheeks and lips drained of color.

It was the worst kind of déjà vu at the worst possible time. Everything familiar about it was terrible, and everything different about it was terrifying.

The utter stillness was the same, the barely-there movement of breath so slight he sometimes rested a palm on Noct's chest to ascertain the rise and fall. The feeling of utter helplessness. The fear that gnawed its way up from the pit of his stomach and into his heart.

The guilt was there, too, but he knew better this time. It was no use heeding that particular emotion. Noct had made his own choices. He would accept his own consequences. All Ignis could do was stand by him, no matter what, as the King had charged him.

There could be no turning back.

They weren't home, in the Citadel, attended by the King's physicians, who knew both medicine and magic. There were no machines measuring out a steady heartbeat, no IVs dripping fluids. In place of Noct's royal chambers, they were holed up in a sketchy motel that had accepted cash payment and fake names. The sheets were printed with a faded floral pattern, probably chosen to disguise stains, and the only help Noctis had would come in the form of Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto.

Prompto was dozing in the other bed, propped up with pillows to avoid aggravating his broken arm. Gladio had set and splinted it, but there wasn’t much else they could do without actual medical attention. Ignis had half-heartedly floated taking Prompto to a local hospital, but Prompto had shut that idea down with a flat stare and a firm “Nah.”

Gladio had gone out to collect food, water, and information, as well as to check on the Regalia. Yesterday, he’d dropped them off at the motel and then parked the Regalia away somewhere about a mile away; Ignis wasn’t sure how recognizable the car was, and though they’d ditched the Insomnian license plates, but it did announce their presence to anyone with the right intelligence.

Three soft knocks at the door announced Gladio was coming back. The sticky doorknob jiggled for a minute before it finally allowed the door to swing open.

“Car’s fine,” Gladio said tersely, setting the groceries down and fishing something out of the bag. His knuckles were bloody. Ignis didn’t ask.

“Noct’s the same,” Ignis said. Needlessly.

Gladio held out the newspaper to Ignis. The headline took up the entire space above the fold: _INSOMNIA AND TENEBRAE FALL._

Beneath that were twin photos: one of Fenestala Manor, still standing but smoldering, the other of Insomnia’s skyline under siege. It Ignis like a blow to the gut. The wall was clearly down, which he had known, but to see his home defenseless, Imperial drop-ships in the sky, buildings toppled . . . well.

You couldn’t really prepare yourself for that.

He read the article, setting the paper down on the bed when his hands shook too badly to see the words. The article announced the deaths of King Regis and Queen Sylva, as well as Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya. That could be useful, Ignis thought; buy them some time beneath the radar.

He moved the newspaper to the nightstand and buried his face in his hands with a sigh.

“Gladio, do you think . . .”

“I don’t know about your uncle, Ignis,” Gladio said, voice softer than Ignis could have predicted. “Or Prompto’s family. Or . . . Iris.”

Ignis heard what he didn’t say. “I’m sorry, Gladio.”

Gladio nodded with a shaky inhalation, then sat down on the edge of the bed where Prompto was sleeping. “The article says there’s a blockade around the Crown City. Not sure we would be able to get back in if we wanted to.”

“We need to get back to Lucis, though,” Ignis mused. “If only to reestablish communication with . . . anyone.” 

It was only because of Ravus that they'd made it out to the Regalia; Gladio had picked up Noctis, Ravus had carried his sister, and Ignis had supported Prompto’s weight. Ravus had guided them through the burning manor, through servants' corridors and secret passageways down to the converted stables, where the Regalia had been delivered from the train.

His home had been burning behind him, but Ravus had not looked back.

They had all crammed into the Regalia to escape — and _that_ had been quite a crowded car — but had parted ways early. Ravus had contacts, a network. They didn't, not here. But sticking together was much too risky.

Lunafreya had been shaky, but unharmed. She would go seek the blessings of the gods, and Noctis . . .

Noctis would claim them. Even through the fear, Ignis was certain of it.

* * *

The next day, Gladio and Prompto both left to see what they could learn; neither he nor Gladio had wanted to let Prompto go, but Prompto had been indignant that they doubted his left-handed sharpshooting skills, and no one had much energy for argument. Ignis hadn't budged from Noct's side since they'd arrived, and he wasn't about to now.

 _Please,_ Ignis pled to any Astral who cared to listen. _Please let him wake up._

When he opened his eyes, Gentiana was standing on the opposite side of the bed.

Well, that was different. Pray to the Astrals, get a Messenger on the spot? Where had they all been the last time?

“Hand of the King,” she said. “You seek healing for your liege?”

_Hand of the King . . ._

“Yes.”

She leaned over Noctis, placed a palm on his chest. “There is a price, to use the power he wields,” she said. Her eyes were still closed, but Ignis had the uncanny feeling she was looking at him. Or maybe deeper.

“Is that not the mark of a good ruler, rather than a tyrant?” Ignis asked. “To use what power he has to protect others?”

Gentiana smiled. A sad smile.

“Spoken truly, O Hand. But sacrifice without cost is meaningless, and power without sacrifice is corrupt.” As she spoke, though, Ignis felt a wave of cool, fresh air fill the room. It stirred the fringe of dark hair that fell across Noct’s forehead. “He will wake. My lady will send word when she is able.”

“And what of the Lady Lunafreya?” Ignis said.

“She is well,” Gentiana said with a true smile. “And she thanks her King for that.”

* * *

  
“Gentiana was here,” Ignis said the moment Prompto and Gladio came back, startling them both. “She said Noctis will wake.”

“Al-riiight, divine intervention!” Prompto cheered.

“Did she give a timeline for that?” Gladio asked with a bit more skepticism.

“Funny enough, no, she did not.” Ignis sat back and scrubbed his face with his hands. Gentiana’s visit had taken away some of the anxiety that had been powering him through his bedside vigil. “She did say Lady Lunafreya is well, and that she would send word when she’s able.”

“Iggy, you should go shower and rest. I’ll wait with Noct,” Prompto said.

Ignis hesitated — but it was foolishness, he realized. They were all family, now. They might be the only family any of them had left. “Alright. Thank you, Prompto.”

Rather than taking the chair next to the bed, Prompto carefully sat on the bed, on top of the comforter next to where Noct slept, and leaned back against the headboard.

In the end, after Ignis showered and crawled into bed, they all just went to sleep that way; Prompto next to Noctis on one bed, Gladio and Ignis in the other.

The full beds didn’t leave much room to sprawl out, but they’d been packed a lot tighter in the tent. Besides, Noctis was the one who tended to end up rolling around in his sleep, waking up somewhere completely different than he’d started. Or whacking unsuspecting sleepers in the face with his flailing.

In fact, when Ignis woke with a start the next morning and sat up in the dull gray light that filtered through the broken blinds, he turned to see that Noct had rolled over in his sleep and ended up with his head across Prompto’s legs, arm thrown out and hand dangling over the edge of the bed.

Relief flooded him. He didn’t manage to stop his surprised laugh, which instantly woke everyone else up — three heads jerked up immediately, though Noct mumbled something incoherent and rolled back over.

“Dude!” Prompto laughed, shaking Noct’s shoulder with his un-splinted arm. “You’ve been asleep for two days, don’t conk out on us just yet.”

“What?” Noct asked, turning back over. He sounded pretty groggy, like it was just a typical Tuesday morning. Then he peered up at Prompto. “What happened to your arm?”

“Tossed off a second-floor balcony, it was pretty badass, sorry you missed it,” Prompto said, shifting the arm slightly in the sling. He kept his voice light, but there was an edge to it now. But then, he frowned. “Hurt like a bitch yesterday, but now I don’t feel it at all.”

“That’s . . . unusual,” Ignis said. “Can you move your fingers?”

Prompto wiggled his fingers. Then, he poked his forearm where the break had been. “Huh. It seems fine. That’s really weird.”

Gladio came over to inspect the arm, carefully removing the splint. “No swelling anymore, either. And hey, your face is fixed.”

“Come now, don’t be rude,” Ignis said without much bite, just because it seemed like someone should.

Prompto lifted a hand to his cheek, which had been split open yesterday. Then he looked down at Noct. “Did you . . . sleep-heal me?”

Noct still looked sleep-addled and confused. He blinked slowly, and then he sat bolt upright, though it earned him a hiss of pain. “Where’s Luna?!”

“She’s okay, thanks to you,” Gladio said. “She and Ravus made tracks, but they’ll be in touch.”

Noctis looked confused, still, like he wasn't quite awake.

“Ravus really came around to you once you saved his sister’s life," Gladio supplied.

“Oh,” Noctis said. Then his eyes went wide and he slumped back against the headboard, as if he'd been struck. “Oh.”

The other three exchanged glances, and Ignis's heart sank. They’d been grappling with all that had happened for two days, but Noct hadn’t gotten that time.

Gladio sat down on the edge of the bed, and Ignis brought the newspaper over and handed it to Noctis. “I’m . . . sorry. We haven’t been able to learn anything more.”

Noctis read the paper with disbelief in his eyes. “So it was all — all a set-up?”

“Looks like it,” Gladio said, bitterly.

Noctis blinked, which freed twin tears to roll down his cheeks. Then, he turned and buried his face in Prompto’s shoulder. Gladio scooted closer, and Ignis sat next to Noct.

The bed creaked — it wasn’t designed to hold four grown men — but they all stayed that way for a long while, tears and warm bodies a small comfort against the destruction of the world they’d known.

“We need to go back,” Noctis said, eventually. “Even if we can’t get in.”

No one said anything. They didn’t have to.

It was time to go home.

* * *

It took them a week, a hefty sum for forged identity papers, and a nerve-wracking boat ride to make it back to the edge of Lucis. As soon as they'd hit the shore of Gladin, Gladio had managed to reach Iris, and his knees had buckled onto the dock in relief. Jared Hester, a retainer of House Amicitia, had managed to escape the city with Iris and his grandson, Talcott, in tow.

Gladio spoke with Jared long enough to get the impression that the King and his Shield had known what was coming, and had taken advantage of the treaty to get Noctis and his friends safely out of the city. Fresh grief had seized him then, but he couldn't begin to confront it. Not yet. Not when it still didn't seem real.

Cor had left messages for Noctis, and when he called, they'd arranged to meet in Keycatrich so Cor could pass on the key to the Tombs of the Kings.

Ignis couldn't reach his uncle, and Prompto couldn't get through to his parents, either.

They camped out on the shore of Galdin Beach again, beneath another starlit sky, setting up camp in the same quiet that had permeated their group for the past week. They sat around the campfire after Ignis made dinner, and it was hard to believe they'd been here mere weeks ago. The whole world had come crashing down since then, but the sound of waves on the shore was unchanging.

Pryna sat at Noct's feet, and he sank his fingers into the comforting softness of her fur. Even more comforting had been seeing Luna's handwriting again. Knowing she was alright. She was fighting against the Starscourge, following in her mother's footsteps, but she and Ravus would meet them in Cauthess to seek the Archean's blessing.

Soon.

Noctis reached into the armiger and plucked out a trio of potion vials. They looked dull and empty, without the magic to fill them. Ignis looked uneasy, but didn’t say anything as he held the vials and exhaled, letting the barest magic go, like he might have done once upon a time to heal a paper cut. But a lot had changed in the past four years. His magic had grown stronger. The trickle lit the vials up gold, filled the liquid with restorative power. He threw one to Ignis and another to Gladio.

“Try them out,” he said.

His friends cracked the vials in their fists, and the bruising faded from Ignis’s forehead. Gladio swung his arm a few times, as if testing that the bullet graze had healed.

“Right as rain,” Ignis said softly.

Prompto leaned forward in his camp chair. “So, how did that happen? That you can use healing magic again, all of a sudden?”

“I think I made a trade,” Noct said, voice thick as he stared into the fire. They’d come so far in search of healing, and if he hadn’t been in Tenebrae . . . he thought Ravus had probably been right on that count. The Imperials had been after him, just as they’d killed his father. And now the Queen was gone forever. He couldn’t see another option he could have chosen — Luna was more important than his leg — but he knew he’d let them down. They'd clearly noticed over the past week, but he hadn't come out and said it yet. “The pain’s better than it was. It’s a lot more manageable. And that's incredible, honestly. But my leg is . . . pretty much where we started.”

“Hey,” said Gladio. “None of that guilty bullshit.”

Noct jerked his chin up to look at Gladio. “What?”

Ignis was nodding, too. “It doesn’t change anything. You can do this, Noctis. And we'll stand with you.”

“I think you know that, dude,” Prompto said.

Noct breathed in deep. He was scared. Overwhelmed. Sad. Angry. But his friends were right, and a spark of hope caught deep within him. He could do this. He _would_ do it, or die trying.

And he wasn’t alone. He knew how to lean on his friends. His brothers.

“We’re gonna do this, huh?” he said, softly.

“Together,” said Gladio.

“Together,” echoed Ignis.

“Nah, I’m out,” said Prompto, then held up his hands when their heads all snapped up. “Just kidding, just kidding, duh! Together. Till the very end.”

“You just ruined a perfectly good touching moment!” Noct protested, but he was laughing, and damn. It felt good to laugh. And _oh — there was that hope again._

_Together._

Together, they'd stand strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading! If you want to yell feelings (or mutter thoughts) at me, I will always love hearing them forever so don't be shy.
> 
> ALSO: I am not the first person to write an AU where the Marilith attacks Noctis as a teenager instead! For more what-ifs, check out [Every Storm That Comes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123396/chapters/52805536) by [ZoeWiloh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeWiloh/pseuds/ZoeWiloh), which I am grateful to have discovered only after I finished writing this because in that fic, Noctis is 16, and having Prompto and Noctis already be friends before the attack is *chefs' kiss.*


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